Poetry – Imperfect – A poem about reality and our limited senses.



We think we see the world as it is but we are wrong. We think we see reality but our view is only partial.

Our senses evolved to enable us to sense the world around us, to find food, seek a mate and avoid predators. Nothing more.

Evolution is very hit and miss. By chance a sense was created and then, through a million refinements honed to the standard we currently possess – imperfection. Each sense stumbled upon provided an advantage to the mutant that gave it a higher survival chance. We are left with the sum total of those random mutations. It is not even good.

We experience the world through touch, sight, sound, taste and smell imperfectly. It is enough to get us around, to avoid obstacles, avoid heat and cold, find things and even communicate. But it lacks range and depth.

If only we could smell like a dog. I would love to smell like a dog.

If only we could see like a bee. Flowers would be a whole new different world.

If only we had the eyesight of a hawk, the mysterious sense of a homing pigeon, the night-sight of an owl or the senses of a fish or whale.

If only.

Our senses are limited to a tiny range of the electro-magnetic spectrum. We are surrounded with myriad energy forms that we cannot detect or ‘see’. Radio waves and Alpha, Gamma, Beta all pass straight through without so much as an acknowledgement. We are so limited.

I would say reality is the sum total of being able to ‘see’ and delight in every single type of energy and matter. We’re a million miles away from that!

A few billion years more and we might have a few improvements.

What glorious universe would we be able to see if we truly saw reality?




Imperfect –

Seeing partially

A fraction

Of the universe


To me.




Flying by

Holding the key

To other views,

Further news

And mystery.


How would

The world look

If we only

Had eyes to see

In X-ray


Or UV?


We think we see

But we are blind

To reality.


Opher 8.11.2015

7 thoughts on “Poetry – Imperfect – A poem about reality and our limited senses.

    1. Still sore. I think I’ve cracked one. But it’s not too bad. I’m sure that a lot of people have a lot worse to contend with including your good self. Thanks for asking.

  1. (What’s the matter with your ribs, friend?)

    My goes off in a whirl when I think of things like this. Just imagine all the electrical impulses going on all around us all the time. When we’re on our cells, surely we send out waves of our own thoughts, etc. What happens when we bump into someone else’s impulses? Is that when we have those momentary lapses and lose our train of thought? Just something I’ve always wondered about…

    1. I fell over and hurt my ribs. They are still sore but it’s not fatal!
      I think there is some psychological connection. I believe it will be scientifically proven. That is why I always go on about this positive zeitgeist. Every age has a ‘feel’ to it. We have to create one that is so good it blows all the misery away forever!

Comments are closed.