It is a freedom of the human mind

That thought shall differ among separate souls,

And though most visions are the same in kind,

Conclusions differ based on what’s proposed.

Perceptions there are like cloud shapes we see,

By one form or another, a childish game;

A perfect something where two can’t agree…

Though, drawn on logic, both see much the same.

We are but slaves to biases through time,

Instructed so, or by our natural state;

Each to their inner insights so inclined—

To other points of view we then collate.

Thus when a shared accord evades us two,

… I’m sure it isn’t me, it must be you.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.