And words can cut one into thirds.
So I will speak and speak I must,
Or else I fear that I may bust.
Though pictures last and speak a lot,
Of what they speak do we give a thought?
Or perhaps sometimes we think to much,
And distort the truth and spread as such.
For can one photo say one thing,
But to another have a different ring?
Who is right and who is wrong?
The question is short. The answer long.
For I may make a fire one night.
To keep me warm, and this is right.
But one shall see the burning flame
And think to eat with this dame.
How disappointed she will be
When no food on fire she see.
Or if one sees the smoke as signal,
"Help me! Help me" it screams a full.
The blush and cower of the one
Who thinks me in danger and not in fun.
Still one, a next, can think he see
That I lit the fire not for me.
One picture of the fire that is made,
But many new plans to use it are laid.
Not one is wrong, not one is right.
Except for the one who lit the light.
So many ways to interpret one thing
Be it photo or word, bird or ring.
May we see with eyes of love and peace
Each piece and part of all, please please?
One day I may set myself a fire
To beckon for help to get out of the mire.
The next may be to guide, a light,
Or cook a mammal after a fight.
I cannot say what your fire is for,
But know that me it will so lure.
For curiosity will endure.
For now and forevermore.
