A Lack of Vision

By Matthew Patterson

How dare you turn your face from me?
Once I was you.
I spoke in rhythm and dwelt in melody.
I was one with ten, twenty, fifty players.
A hundred hands, a hundred ears, a single purpose.
Now I am but one, and you see only one, but I retain all that ever was.
You call yourself musician, artist, seer,
And so confident are you that you fully comprehend your world,
That your gaze slides past the worlds upon worlds in the other.
Perhaps one day you shall realize your blindness,
And I shall provide a lens through which you may see.

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