Poem: Lines

"Lines, from point to point

Tracing the concrete, the real, life in general.

Small or long, curved and flat,

Tracing and spacing where necessary to

Formulate reality.

Many say we're made of atoms,

But I think their li-ning.

Look at that shadow - its been outlined.

To change what forms our bones

Or thrones, or scones,

(If such is even said that way)

Would be to deteriorate those lines,

To space those lines,

To "dash" their hopes of truth.

Neat and orderly

Prim and Prop.

Staying Straight, or turn, or stop,

But don't cross the line.

Well, do it, if you must,

But only your's and never mine

And think it through, and take your time.

Some lines are broken when

You cross.

And lines like two sides,

and like to be thin,

They don't like to be fat:

It's really just a problem.

Rotund or wide is what makes

Crossing from side to side so

Tedious.

It's graying overtime.

Or was it just old and gray from the beginning?

Or at a point, was the line made more

Of a rectangle, a zone of little interference?

Or is it safe on the line?

To never cross it. To stay in it.

Is that why a line is wider?

As more and more colour it through

And through,

And under duress and

Frequent stress

It grays, bit by bit.

I guess I wish lines didn't make up reality

Anymore."

~Aynsley Vivian, 2020

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