Human Spirit - a poem

A small pocket,

of static matter

wakes from the sleep

of the immobile.

Hidden within a lattice,

of nerve and organ,

it feels for an exit.

Scraping the edges of a fluid maze,

it collides with others,

like itself,

forming an identity

of impression and

necessity.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

It begins to pulsate -

walking to the beat

of success,

dancing to the beat

of failure.

Rising,

it forms an ever growing thread,

connecting what it can be,

with what it was.

It enters a layer,

saturated by a pseudo atmosphere,

of ill-founded pleasures

and distractions.

It forces itself to remain blind,

but not sightless.

Emerging, it accelerates and laughs.

Fueled by a powerful vigor,

known only to beings

who live in the world

of zenith-denied peaks,

and black swans.

It stops,

when it reaches

its home

made of tessellation

and kaleidoscopic infinities.

And it is here

where it remains,

its thread intact.

Watching its host

worlds below,

walking in a life

dictated by law.

Its host feels the thread

and smiles,

knowing full well what it means,

to live in a world of tessellation

and kaleidoscopic infinities.