Within the realms of space
Exist the pearly lines of logic,
Foreboding, tremendously woven like lace
With fiery finesse and a flashing flicker.
From elegant earth, cyclopean stars
Are rendered so picayune,
We see them only as circles and bars
Adorning the sky, so meticulously strewn.
But the human mind
Does not need to look beyond
The two-dimensions we see to find
Amusement. Sorry Armstrong.
The blazing cataclysmic beauty
Is wasted on our feeble temperament.
Squandered almost deliberately
Without further acknowledgment.
And the result of this treachery
Is the reason our lives are so dull.
We morph all we see, making it blurry.
Leaving only a 2-D circle.
And yet, even with this simple silhouette,
We bask in beautiful bundles of bliss.
Ironically enough, we call it infinite
Like that of space, a more infinite abyss.