I started writing; I made a dot, a dot of infinite
possibilities.
It could be the tittle to an I, the top to a L or the cross
to a X,
Or simply a period to nothing.
It could stretch anywhere in two dimensions and write a story,
Or spiral around in blues and greens and paint a Monet.
It was all in a dot, the potential to expand.
So I let it stay within,
and let it be a dot of infinite possibilites.
Reminds me of Edwin Abbott Abbott's Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions
ReplyDeleteAllow me to append to your poem.
"And yet it exploded,
the Dot exploded,
from the zeroth came the first dimension
it was awesome
but lacked affectation
then came the second
expanding forward and backward
left and right
A whole world came into being
laughter and light
mitosis - the plane gave birth to more of its own
stacked on top and bottom
a world on its own
And so it went on
until a miracle took place
life came into being
and showed its pretty face
...And it all started with a big bang. BANG!"