The Geometry of One

I want to write of the world
expose its soul and regain
its conscience.

So,
I scribble fervently
tensed up words,unsophisticated
thoughts from my mind
wishing to dig from my young
inexperience the wake up call
never been said before

and though i shake up
my illusions, fuel my weakness
with heroic courage
i end with a period---
a black spot against a white
canvass producing infinite dots
in a corrupted world.

Staring into the exposition's end
dead of passion or life
I find the inexplicable
the paradox of finding
without searching

In that dot---
the infinitesimal,
the geometry that is:

Space---
an amalgam of points
a singularity of voice
across a blank vastness
multiplied a thousand times:
Mass---
solidity and weight
force and acceleration
reaping change

and i find myself
no longer futile
a dot
persisting---a constant
pursuit in regaining
a dead end's
conscience
a possibility of
exposing this world's soul.