Chrysanthemums

THREE WORD WEDNESDAY
http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2010/10/3ww-ccxi.html
(effect, vast, shimmer)

CHRYSANTHEMUMS

(The stars before a cataract operation!)

I turned my back on Myopia

The great goddess of the eyes,

And sometimes the thought occurs to me

That it wasn't entirely wise.

How I longed for normal vision,

The crisp outline, the clarity,

I envied those with normal sight,

Resented the disparity.

*

She warned me, yes, she warned me,

Saying 'If that is what you choose,

Pay heed to the glories of my realm,

Consider what you'll lose.

Think of the Van Gogh effect,

Seen through eyes that are dimmer!

Think of the vast expanse of  sky

And chrysanthemums that shimmer!

Think of the kindness of the eyes

That look on the human face

And never see the blemishes

That healthy eyes can trace!

You'll say goodbye to streaks and swirls

And a mistiness that enhances!

You'll say goodbye to each mirage

That in the distance dances.'

*

'What do I care!' I snapped at her

'I want clear and perfect vision!'

'Right!' said Myopia, tartly;

'Oh well, it's your decision!'

I turned my back on Myopia

The great goddess of the eyes,

And sometimes the thought occurs to me

That it wasn't entirely wise.

*

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GREY

Bleach the colours near away.
Then delight in misty grey.
Remove the hectic startling hues,
The crassly crimsons, blatant blues,
Yelling yellows and grosser greens,
That dazzle and drown the passing scenes.
The advertisers may delight
In brilliance matched with startling white.
They aim it seems, to hurt our eyes;
Rainbow temptation in disguise.
'Buy me!' 'Taste me!' Aren't I pretty!',
Emblazoned over every city.
Yet, pause awhile, and look on grey;
The colour to steal your stress away.
See, above, a view of life
Devoid of all that strident strife.
Dive in and mingle with the clouds;
Forget those colour-conscious crowds.
Do you need blue? Then look above;
Clouds tinged like the feathers of a dove.
Do you need green? The distant trees,
Wreathed in mist, are sure to please.
Purple, merging into mauve,
Like an artistic treasure-trove.
Whites that lean towards the cream;
A hidden sun, with a subtle gleam.
Rocks that, somehow, have the knack
Of being black, yet not quite black.
Buildings, softened by a brush
That wont accept life's modern rush;
Buildings unpeopled and serene;
Nothing sordid, brutal, mean.
Unknown artist, I applaud you,
Every accolade I accord you.
You have gentled all my day
With that lovely colour, grey.
*