Dream the Kaleidoscope

I imagine myself to be like a kaleidoscope,

colors morphing into shapes and beings

all made through refraction and motion.

Each glass bead dances to a different tune—

the yellow to cast a fragmented star,

the red to envelop a supernova igniting,

the blue to call back a tide too wild.

My imagination alights with fancies

like the varied spin of those shards

shifting against tiny rotating mirrors.

The colors don't matter as much to me—

because green can soothe or erupt,

just as orange can enliven or mellow—

and I know moods can shift just the same.

But each etching in my head delights

even though the doing can infuriate

as I try to capture images in words.

Pulling out each piece, pristine,

might be like trying to catch a shadow

or freeze the kaleidoscope in frames

for later inspection and dissection.

The things I pen never seem to match

the people and settings populating

every room within my thoughts' confines.

But I shift the view again, the angle,

the way the light joins the dark,

and every fleeting glimpse tells me

there's still so much to learn.

Still, I take my time as the vessel

for the tales meant to come alive

whenever I'm ready to take part.