My sky is a circle
Is it okay if my sky is a circle?
Dark rings lengthened, end in a circle of light.
What's around me has form but no sight.
What has sight, lacks form,
singular dimension at the end of the well.
How far away is the sky,
To take form of the moon?
Resplendent cycle of circular vision.
It's a motion picture,
With barely perceptible motion;
Limitless time, bottomless imagery.
Do wells always wallow within us?
One step and you're at the bottom,
Reality loses all dimensions but one,
Escape is an image.
And what do you escape when there's no more self?
Self without dimension, has no worth.
But the bottom of a well allows no dimensions,
Unyielding walls, yield only to the mind.
The sky has two moons in the night,
The circular universe, and within it, The moon.
Nested moons, mirror the nest of my well and me.
But nests are transient, for those helpless before the flight.
A bird sits on the well's walls,
The image of escape, escapes the singular dimension,
Sudden shifts in vision, and the self desires worth.
This desire is the rope,
And feet chipping away at the well's well weathered walls,
Ascend to the ground.
Sky expands beyond vision's periphery,
Body adjusts to its form,
Vivid brightness, starts coloring the self.
And when the self will be completely coloured,
The well will await, the nest for a new flight.
For the secret of truth lies at the bottom of a circular sky.