Scribo Scribere

A Literary Blog



There is a theater I like to visit.

In the center city it stands.

It has an implacably golden ceiling.

When I go to the theater I sit at the top,

in the nosebleed section, in the very last row.

In this way, I am closer to the bright surface.

It sparkles above me when the house lights are on.

From here, at the top, the pinnacle of the building,

I look down on all the audience around me.

In my seat high I do not feel poor or underdressed,

but proud, triumphant, listening and ready, so eager.

I watch the people around me: all in different spots,

at different angles to the stage, so what they see and hear

is always different from one place to the next.

There is a man in a dark suit by the balcony rail.

Down in the orchestra, a woman in a coral dress.

There a young couple, there an old one.

Each person at a different angle, a different position to the stage.

How many different perspectives are in this theater,

and in all this world, so many ways of seeing things!

From youthful-buoyant, to adult-cautious, to aged-reflective,

one moment living, the next looking back on the wonder of years

lived long before, their substance lost to stony time.

I am bold to say that this is a world of perception,

a world of filters, perspectives, experienced by us.

It is lived in and through the mind, to each one different,

to each one placed separately, all around the wide earth.

I feel this as I sit in the theater, waiting for strains

of music to be sounded, the concert to begin.

I am close to the golden ceiling of this radiant place,

so tall, so tightly packed, featuring, within it,

the widest possible spectrum of all lived experience.


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