The world is not only
The shining right light of white
And the depraved dark depths of black

I won't even go on
About the moral grey shades in between
Mottled like a city pigeon's tail feathers

Because there are
Royal eruditious blues
Mischievous swirled jades
Passionate scarlets
Playful tangarine oranges
Inoccent pastel yellows
Regal deep reds
Mysterious deep purples
Curious robin egg blues
Righteous yellow oranges
Tranquil summer greens
Bubbly social pinks
Patient shades of indigo
Cautious neon colors
Pure-hearted golds
Clear minded silvers
And ultraviolets of feelings yet to be defined

And if I'm looking at the world
I want to see it in full spectrum

Snell's law in life a medium
of a mind prism, as sure as ,
the wavelenths have varying temperatures:
Wide open aperature of high
the slitted view of depressions,
purpish absorbing the green, yellow
echoes, yellow absorbing the hot red rays.
If only I saw what was absorbed, the waves that came I ignored.
Blue with depressions, colder than all the feel of ultraviolets.
Or intense as the white paper absorbing the infrared rays.
I pass , like a prism, the negative refractive indexes.

A stranded auburn brittle leaf before me
surrenders to the deftly sweep of zephyr,
coriolically swirling to elevate its conquest
into an air of revolving molecules, colliding,

split by ultraviolets to recombine, ceaselessly
creating shielding layers of evanescence, rare,
delicate, perfect. All in graceful motion
synergically metamorphosing around,

immovable trees deeply rooted in fertile soils,
breathing in our toxics, exhaling our essential
inhales, growing to shade, fauna from irradiance,
that of a star wizardly shilly-shallying with water,

a silent duet, dissolving to ascend
towards the skies, finding freedom in vapours
yet unable to escape, hauled back to rain,
replenish lakes, rivers flowing a course

estuaries to lavishing blue oceans, the depths
in which cells creatively began moulding into shape,
under erumpent tides metronomes of balance
orchestrating and echoing foreplays of attraction,

to a distant enchanting moon of paleness
jealously mimicking the love affair between
Earth and Sun, the first chasing the latter
endlessly in infinite space, as it performs

revolutions around holes of darkness seduced
by its opposite in which it mirrors and identifies
mutual origins, marble games where speeds
of clustered spheres exceed a million miles an hour

where inexistent time beats the rhythm scored
by elegant laws pulling the strings to the dance
of seduction, pirouetting above our blind eyes,
power, as zephyr decides to repose

the auburn brittle leaf once more,
before me.

In reality I am on a couch,
Melting into its cushions
In the heights of an acid trip.
With my consciousness phasing
In and out of my corporeal being,
I lose grip, and project:

There is an ambulance,
Somewhere,
Backside down in a sinkhole
In some street,
And in the back is a dying man.
Each wavelength of perception pulls me into him;
I meld with his soul --
We become one:

Our face is pressed against the shattered glass
Of the left rear window,
Strewn in a suspension of blood,
Oil,
Dirt,
And pitch black asphalt.
We are not moving.
We cannot move.
We are crumpled into a position unnatural.
I see us from third-person and first-person
Simultaneously:
This ruined human form, broken and doomed.

Our heart is slowing.
The blood pools against our left cheek.
Each beat is slower than the last,
Each pump more shallow.
We're slipping away.
And then, at once,
No more beats,
Our eyes glaze over,
And I dissipate;
Melt into the folds of unknown realms:
I sink away.

There is no "Human" here;
There is no identity.
Nothing but pure wavelengths,
About me drift celestial ribbons,
Alight with infinitely brilliant reds and ultraviolets:
Pure mathematics,
Metaphysical, immaterial --
I do not ask where I am.
I am no longer "I".
My conscious spirit, my soul, my being,
Dissolves into the primordial frequencies
Of this sublime realm.
I touch infinity.
I become one with the source from which
All organic matter receives energy,
Where all life is recycled,
Where I am led to believe we go when we die:
The Conduit of Consciousness.

Yet, I am awoken,
Face down in a gravel driveway
Outside the house with the couch.
Much of my inside lip is missing.
My mouth tastes of dirt, grime, and blood.
It is five in the afternoon.
I'm on Earth.
My name is Forrest.
It seems that I am alive.
People, humans, ones that I know,
Are around me,
And they bring me up.

By: Forrest Jorgensen

Granted the sense of sight, I see
What you see, reflections of light, between
Infrareds and ultraviolets, a little portion
Of the electromagnetic spectrum, unhidden
To our vision, only guessing the wonders of X
And Gamma rays, while playing with colours.

Entrusted with a mind able to recognise and realise,
I comprehend what you understand, and distinguish
Water from soil, oceans from forests, planet Earth
From star Sun, food from poison, love from hate, my body
From yours, delineating where I end and you begin, detecting
Our similitude as a species, bound by rationality and feelings.

Conferred unfathomable imagination, intangible
Deprived of a location, I delight myself in conceiving
Your ideas, identifying with your thoughts, magical grasp
Of the unknown and uninvented, able to create my perceptions,
Give life to conceptions, just like you, pouring words on paper,
Painting images on canvas, building shelters and wheels.

Bequeathed the legacy of common ancestors, millennia
Of history and knowledge, culture, tradition and creeds, evolution,
I share your story, your anatomy and physiognomy, your blood
And DNA, a map of all the genes composing you and me,
Trillions of cells gathering together to make a human being,
With the strongest impression that I resemble you, in so many ways.

Bestowed with consciousness I contain
Information I explore, attempting to unleash
The essence stored within, that unspecified certain thing
That unites all that exists, and elicits humankind to believe
Something greater, something beyond has a determined volition
For me to apprehend that I am you, and you are me.

I've been dreaming about the sun
as far back as one and two.
I've been redecorating my resting place for twenty-one years.
But a grave is a grave is a grave is a grave
no matter the time it takes
to masquerade
my brave.
I've never been brave enough to face the light of day.
I've lived by reflected light.
It easy to stare at the moon by eyesight.
How do I stare at the sun with eyesight?

you came
to me past twilight and watched me redecorate.
I planted flowers in the grave.
but a grave is a grave is a grave is a grave
no matter how many flowers bloom at midnight.
(None of them did)
What then changed?

I took off the mask and let you open the door
and now
The light from the sky floods my grave with a force of a million volts.
I am reminded of the time
I thought I would never run through fields of ultraviolets.
Today I walk out of my grave.
To the day!

To what should I be afraid?
My fields are shot with blue violets.
The roots rip open grounds
as buds blossom with violence.
To what should I be afraid?

Today, because of you,
a grave is not a grave.
Today, because of you,
I wake up to the sun.
I'm staring at the sun without eyesight.
I love you
I feel the warmth of sunlight.

Intangible perception of reflecting light,
Electromagnetic radiation stimulating
Mammalian photoreceptors, six million
Cone cells densely packed, in a point three
Millimetres area known, as the fovea centralis
Residing at the core, of colour-grasping retinas.

Red, green and blue, bases of interpretation,
As all others can be matched with a combination
Of the three, for trichromats to see, distinguish
Energy of wavelengths to believe in deception,
Think that colours do exist, a gift of pigments
Inherited from early vertebrates, while fish

And birds may see Ultraviolets, as they are given
An extra one. Classification in categories,
Yellow, orange, purple, indigo and many more,
Associated with objects through wavelengths
Of light reflecting from them depending on physical
Properties deciding, whether to reflect specularly,

Scatter or absorb. Objects thus have the colour
Of the light leaving their surface, while rainbows
Continue to enchant exquisitely, the eye of the
Beholder struggling, to understand the physics
Of such bewildering apparition. Waiting for evolution
To give it a few pigments more, for it to see beyond.