Does it ever occur to you that growing up creates an illusion that the universe is shrinking and the only way to resist this shrinking is realization.
The world is a dot
What does it all bring us to,
Our senses conjoined, if not,
Reaping a sky deep Blue,
A lifetime coined, a moment sought,
In turning this stone, in dreaming a lot,
Shaping our world from things we caught.
Till when a call brings to our dive,
A fall defined, a closing plot,
Reaping the shares of our hive,
a nobel beleif, A battle fought.
In turning the stone, in dreaming a lot,
Shaping our world from dreams we lost.
Then it falls, all from the sight,
Our senses conjoined, in a clot
guided by pulses, breath and light,
We seive through memory, spot by spot.
In turning as stone, still dreaming a lot,
Shaping our world dot by dot.