The Myth of the Cave

On a windy day, through half-open blinds
I could see a swarm of random green dots
That would shuttle back and forth in thin rows
Like an abacus made of mercury beads.

If I closed my eyes a little bit more
Or I let my focus shift just a bit
I could almost believe the trees outside
That were blown by bursts of unyielding wind
Were instead a world of buzzing green blurs
That flew in a frenzied hypnotic wave.

And although a Greek once wrote of a cave
Of fire and chains to depict mankind's
Rather narrow grasp of the world outside,
It seems much simpler, though less glorified,
To go to the window and open the blinds.