The being inside just rattles around.
How vast the cave is essentially unknowable,
Though amplified screams echo around.
They bounce off the walls of the hollow chamber,
A demented wraith of harrowing sound.
The being inside has no lights but one,
A tiny gold flame dances over her head.
By it she sees nothing but shapes and shadows,
All she hears are fragments of what is said.
From the glimpses she catches she paints the walls,
Of the cave with portraits of the shades of her mind.
She knows only iridescent black granite,
The shades only know though they see-
They are blind.
"How cruel an irony" as Socrates said,
When he smashed through the wall of Plato's cave.
"That those who enjoy the gift of vision are fettered,
while the purblind are free to govern the world".
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