Ripples of the Fifth

A pond exists firmly within the box It is pinged here and there And ripples flow, combine and pass through, Painting pictures of the world A child sits on a ledge, firmly outside the box, He creates beautiful stones with his view But as he casts them toward the far away box As they cross into the four dimensions of reality They fade from his sight, and are lost to him. He tells himself, he doesn’t need to know, That he threw his stone the best he could Tells himself, he’s happy with his effort, But is it the truth! If none of his stones enter the water, If, for all his efforts, he makes no ripples In the great pond he looks upon, Has he really done enough! Only time will tell. Ironically, the one who can see In his mind, endless amounts of time, Cannot have enough in his mortal essence, To see where his stones’ journeys takes them

Mental Journey

I am on a journey of the mind. Contemplating the universe on every scale, and doing a complete introspective exploration. I may never be a literary academic, but I share my humble thoughts in hope that they may inspire others.

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