Rich are the optics of the well liked,

Dark are the same closets,

For everyone holds a darkness within,

A twisted form of ourselves,

Some take pride,

Some fear it,

Some work to overcome it,

While others seek to perfect it,

Our nature, the true nature,

The soul of our being,

That is the true optic,

The glass that focuses,

That which the soul desires,

The true optic of what a person is,

The soul, not only a mirror, but a gauge,

Defining intent, while it swirls between evil and good,

Concepts, imaginations, ideals,

Those things which drive the philosophical train.

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