Over-Clear Rays Poem by Christopher Withers

ofttimes, my mind rebels,
against the hand that reality
has (seemingly) dealt us.
the creatures, monsters to some,
living and breathing in the shadows
are burnt away in suns clear rays.
as a child i once questioned
and then decided that
a life of magical thinking, even
if proved false, would be preferable to
a life with all the wonder limited
to the over-clear rays of a microscope.
but now, as i sit on the wrong side of time,
i see the wonder in the microscope,
its construction, and the structures
revealed in its glance.