When I was a child, all the world was strange,
how fantastic, phantasmagorical,
enter the world of the magic lantern,
nothing but ghosts in the Assembly Hall.
I could not know the world, full of spectres
wandering the earth for generations
as men, women and children do today,
still my eyes did not deceive me back then,
as children see what adults cannot know,
children see the ghosts of our present selves,
how we pass through this world as images,
in the flesh, ever real, in one moment,
left changed, a semblance of what we once were,
doomed to grow up, to grow older, decline,
as the body changes, this body mourns,
left to wilt in the sun, a desert flower,
lest we remember, adults act busy,
tragically we forget the ghosts that pass,
haunt the world as active living beings,
ephemeral memories, former lives,
wordless, this veil of pure intuition,
only children can see, smoke and mirrors,
remember the images on the screen,
lest we forget the passage of vessels
drawn from one shore to the other side, why,
when everything we need to know is here,
all we have forgotten about the past,
simulacra of our former selves, ghosts,
spectres, only children can see, adults
take the world too seriously, freak out
remembering the passage of lost time,
angles, curves, lines, all that is visible,
nothing more than geometric patterns,
geometry and algebra, useless,
even calculus cannot build this bridge.
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