Horizon in Any Direction

It could go either way,
This story, you suppose.
People have always seen

Faces in face-shaped things.
To be a real story
You’d need something to change.

There’s a local instance,
A ragged cliff that seems,
If you know how to look,

To have a silhouette
Of a man’s face, almost
Like a Mayan carving.

This could go either way.
You could do the version
In which the silhouette

Comes to life, full moon nights,
And maybe talks to you,
Tells the tragic story

Of the star-crossed lovers,
One falling to his death.
You could really push it,

Have faces come to life
All over the planet,
All the ones people claim,

Or make it so people
Gain the strength to enchant
Any pareidolia,

Characters everywhere
Springing to life from moons,
Cliffs, fields, bushes, baguettes,

Real magic, real at last.
Or it could go the way
Where it’s people who change,

People stop seeing things
As faces, stop seeing
Phony faces at all.

That, too, you could push far,
Have people start to fail
To see faces at all,

Lose the concept of face,
Stop caring for faces,
Care only for voices

Or written messages
Or being, actually,
Touched. Real magic, as such.