Encoded Myopia
The Art of Freedom-Homesick for the Infinite
They say, “Look around you, this is all there is,”
But I’m staring through a keyhole they call “what exists,”
A sliver of a spectrum, a fraction of the whole,
Just enough to keep me steady… never make me whole.
Colors on a canvas that my eyes translate,
Signals in the darkness that my mind dictates,
I call it “real,” I call it “true,”
But it’s just a story my senses drew.
Oh, we’re living in a narrow beam of light,
Calling day and calling night,
While the rest just fades away unseen,
In this coded field we lean.
Every word, every sound, every sight we hold,
Is a frequency we’ve been told,
And the truth we think we know…
Is just how far we’re allowed to go.
Five small windows in a boundless sea,
Sight and sound and touch and memory,
They feed the brain electrical dreams,
And stitch them into what “reality” means.
A voice is nothing but a trembling air,
Until the mind decides it’s there,
A color only comes alive
When the brain decodes the light that arrives.
We never touch, we never see,
Not the thing itself, just circuitry,
A private film behind the eyes,
Projected truth… or well-dressed lies.
Oh, we’re living in a narrow beam of light,
Calling day and calling night,
While the rest just fades away unseen,
In this coded field we lean.
Every word, every sound, every sight we hold,
Is a frequency we’ve been told,
And the truth we think we know…
Is just how far we’re allowed to go.
Eight billion minds tuned to the same disguise,
Different stories, different eyes,
Same deep signal underneath,
Filtered through belief like teeth.
Religion, science, side by side,
Different maps for the same divide,
Reading meaning into the stream,
Each convinced they’ve seen the dream.
But shut the line between tongue and brain,
And sweetness never comes again,
Stop the signal of the pain,
And the wound exists in vain.
What is real when all we feel
Is translated, signed, and sealed?
What is truth when every proof
Is filtered through a living roof?
Maybe sight is just a cage,
Drawn in lines upon a page,
And infinity stands just outside…
Of everything we’ve ever tried.
Oh, we’re more than what these senses show,
More than what we think we know,
There’s a silence past the sound we hear,
A wider field beyond this fear.
And if the world is in the mind,
Then maybe we can redefine,
The limits drawn around our view…
And step into a deeper truth.