This is about a circle.

No, it is not a circle of friends,

Nor is it the form with no ends.

It is not the circle of a wheel,

That humanity's wounds professes to heal.

It is not the circle of life;

Of family - man and his wife.

Yet, it is about a circle. My circle.

 

My circle is two dimensional, simple and free,

And has many centres like me.

Dreams are free to float off the pages,

With boundaries that have been useless for ages.

 

Then come the figures, numbers in loop;

Ganging up on me in groups.

Drifiting, spinning, commanding, confining...

You see, that is when

Your three murdered my four with a one.

Three, four, one, four, three.

You, love, I, love, you.

Your Four constructed corners for my circle.

My well-framed, four-cornered circle was resilient.

But then, they had to tell me it wasn't a circle anymore!

And that it was box!!

 

Now a box, is an entirely different story.

A box is not simple.

Its boundaries are very real and very tangible.

It swallows the overflowing circle;

Yet is always half empty.

In this different story though, I found out that,

My four-cornered box is a foolproof shelter;

It keeps me away from numbers;

Especially the terrible threes and the murderous fours.

 

However, this box is just an after image.

It is the after image of my image of a circle.

It is the after image of a long lost dream,

Turned into a shrieking dream;

Of wishes and hopes that try to dissolve,

The numberless boundaries that constantly evolve.

Of a naïve belief,

That selfless love brings relief.

It is the after image of questions;

That hold answers as suggestions.

 

It is the question of worth.

Is any of this worth it?

And despite anything that anybody says,

There is an unflinching truth,

A bare naked necessity;

To let yourself be struck down

In order to get up.

It is not about letting yourself  be boxed by the threes and fours,

But rather opening up to the one real liberating force.

And in the end, the after image is not what matters,

As long as there is that love for a soul that's in tatters.

 

The after image of my circle will surely become 

A perfect image in He who loves me more than anything in the world.

In Him who told me I was worth dying for;

In Him who adorns my every scar;

In Him who washed my every sin;

In Him who knows me out and in;

In Him who helps me finish my race;

With perfect purity, 

By His absolute grace;

my box, my circle, my life, my struggles,

Will all find their worth and a loving embrace.

And so yes, it is all worth it in the end.

The image, after image and perfect image of my cirlce...