Cubes

That three-dimensional solid so symmetrical, Suggests how life could be - understandable, With only six faces, all square for equal sides, And a formulae to describe what makes us stable. This staple of stability is taken, unchallenged and assumed - The rational is included unthinkingly in life’s plethora: Carted to anchor that which horrifies and saddens, And bread to float and strike chords which harken. You can also make a cube into a sphere, That circular goddess that looks like a globe, Reminiscent of the earth’s fullness and dwelling, With freedom, liberty and happiness so giving. It has space, dimensions and co-ordinates, And its tesseract is plottable on a graph; Other polyhedra can be related to it Its symmetry mutations of tilings laugh. Understanding and sense derive themselves well - You can't laugh at the cube’s skeleton; Furnished, not flawed or gaunt by posture, It's structure sits regally for exposure. Descriptions are it's glory, that flushing realism, The Cubism movement pushed academic boundaries; Said that paintings can be made of shapes and cubes, Which built a monument to reductionism’s theories. That we can be reduced down to basic matter, Particles, atoms, cells and molecules, Is cubism's gust and enterprise for all, Who gather so as to hear its paintings flatter. I love cubes, and always have, They’ve offered hope in times of despair; Their eloquence and beauty spark with naturalism, With natural life’s inevitable repair.