Inside of the square,
I am confined by four walls.
Four corners.
Each that I turn to throughout the day.
I see information, I see knowing.
I see the polarities of who I am.
And the differences between us all.
The parts of a whole.
Fractions of numbers.
To my left, is the past.
Standing tall is Saint Michael.
My version of the Archangel.
Marred by wounds, his sword held high. A slain dragon at his feet.
On my right, is the future.
Where stands a blank figure in a dark shroud.
It growls when I ask it’s name.
Inside the square, I see endless eternity.
I see the need for contrast.
The need to stay connected.
Each down has it’s up.
Every black must know it’s white.
On the corner above, I see the snake.
A being waiting upon it’s transformation,
Shedding it’s skin to slither anew.
At the bottom, I saw the possum.
The one who I once was.
Dismissed and left for dead,
Surprising all by his sudden animation.
We live inside of a four dimensional reality,
Bordered by four walls.
And four corners.
A square.
A geometric prison.
The way out is through.
