Whenever he draws that spiral, everyone’s eyes glaze over; It’s obviously just another diversion. But there are three people in the room who notice that swirl, and four who understand it; The Riddler, the Politician, the Redhead and the Poet.
If the other eyes are glazing, then the enlightened four’s eye is the fire.
Like a fingerprint, this flame is unique for each of them.
The Riddler reflects knowledge, and reveals a candle.
It burns within wisdom, not without time.
The Politician captures ambitious modesty,
And sends a smile of realisation over his shoulder.
The Redhead blinks osmosis, green fire, blue smoke, red sky.
Both sub specie aeternitatis and ignorance lie in that eye.
But the Poet can’t know the fire in his eyes;
Mirrors and windows are someone else’s reflection.
He can only believe it is there,
and try to guess at its true nature.
People say he knows everything.
Yet they are foolish for thinking he knows anything.
The people who make such wild claims about “He”,
Should realise what a God that makes “Me”,
And retract the claim if they believe and fear Hell.
If they don’t? Their hypocrisy would have God as a mere poet regardless.
Of eternity, reality, infinity, God. The poet is not.
They are all reflections of a single eye’s idea.
Not his eye.
He can see another’s reflection, but never notice his own eye.
All four understand that spiral,
But only the Riddler, Politician, and Redhead notice it.
The Poet does not notice it. Why?
Because he can see it…
Alex Herlihy – 2009