When I was a child I’d often wondered what the world would
Look like if my eyes were kaleidoscopic-
If they would restore my innocence and blaze my world back to color
Much like spring strikes motley hues into the white bone of winter.
I suppose at birth we all enter this world enchanted.
We are like the cub that chases the butterfly to the river and finds the
Rainbow trout dive-bombing the prancing waters.
So one spectacle bleeds into another and then another and yet another; and the stained glass wings of the butterfly yield to the pink horizon streak etched amid the trout’s leopard-speckled skin.
But innocence is such a fragile facet, so easily shattered and so short-lived.
It’s our internal firefly that lives fiercely and astonishes.
There is a storm only understood by the child that has their virtue gnawed. The heavy, lurid breath of that wind is caked on their skin; the
Sour taste always on the tongue; the cloud’s heavy body continually felt; The sight of its twisted form branded upon the eyes that once saw a 1000 Trees in a pinecone.
As a man I realize that it’s not the physical mechanical processes
Of the iris, the cornea, and the cones, but rather the soul, the spirit, and the mind, from which kaleidoscopic strength sprigs-
Its that which enables one to see the world as a cathedral
Forged by the hands of God-
And His hands stretch forth from my wrist
To mend the shattered visage of the abused, of the lonely,
Of the downtrodden, and to
Redeem their garments of despair with the shawl of spring
Unto newness of life…
DiCicco Cosentino ©