The Photographer's Dream
A photographer dreamed
Of a telephoto lens
Capturing light waves
From beginning to end.
Since time unleashed
When the Big Bang leaped
And particles began life’s history
In swirling clouds he wondered how
He might picture a piece of the mystery.
Through polished glass converging past
Planets, stars and seas
Of swirling waves that danced and swayed
No less than windswept trees.
As he focused his dream glass
Where present meets past
And depth of field is wide;
Where the image is clear and light streaks steer,
Far away from the photographer’s eye.
With shutter speed set like a fast speed jet
Blazing through the blue-white wispy above
Turning his wings on the bird that sings
And a girl who once stole his love.
Racing through time while continuing to climb
Higher through the prism of light
His finger feathers the button below
Capturing the moment in flight.
Lingering there in pure mid-air
Like a magic carpet in the wind;
Until jolted by the sun on its morning run
While still dreaming of that telephoto lens.
Maybe today, perhaps tomorrow,
He’ll capture the illusive the beast;
The athlete who strives for the best inside
Or the homeless sleeping in the streets.
He’ll stop small birds he’s seen and heard
With their colorful feathers, breast and crown;
And children playing in autumn leaves
Scattered on the ground.
Weddings and rings, flowers in spring,
Butterflies, wistful and bright;
Pollinating bees and hives in the trees
Or a harvest moon late at night.
Meadows and mountains, free flowing fountains
Ancient temples in faraway places;
Fireworks up high on the 4th of July
Olympics and fast car races.
But now fully awakened he knows he’s mistaken
About the focal length in his dream glass;
Lens lust is a photographer’s must
But this too, he knows, must pass.
Like water flowing in the river
And wind passing through thin air;
The world he sees through his own eyes
Is a wonder beyond compare.
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