The hill it is on.
What it is made of.
This is not what makes a difference.
My interest is what makes a difference.
This difference is what makes it interesting.
These are pieces of paper
and these of air.
There is a difference which is interesting.
Would you believe me if I told you
this is not my interest.
Come and show me the pieces of paper.
Come and show me the difference
between what is written on the pieces of paper
and what is written on the pieces of air.
This is the difference which is my interest.
The difference is what is interesting.
It is interesting that there is no difference.
It is interesting that you would not believe me
if I told you there was no difference
between the pieces of paper and the pieces of air.
The Greeks built temples out of air
and then the difference turned them into stone.
The Aztecs built temples out of sunlight
and then the difference turned them into blood.
The Chinese built temples out of numbers
and then the difference turned them into paper.
The Etruscans built temples out of wood
and then the difference turned them into air.
There is a difference between air and stone
but it is the difference between paper and blood
which is my interest.
My interest is different
it is in the air in the wood
but you would not believe me if I told you.
The difference is written in blood on paper
but you would not tell me if you believed me.
Cotton candy. Popcorn. Taffy apples. Brine.
All these are different
but the difference is not what is interesting.
What is interesting is the difference
between what I told you and what I believed you told me.
The difference is there and it is interesting.
The interesting difference is that you believed what I told you
in the temple of air
in the temple of stone
in the temple of blood
in the temple of numbers
in the temple of wood
in the temple of paper
in the temple of sunlight.
Jon Corelis's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Difference by Jon Corelis )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe