There will have to come a time when
You look up at the ceiling squares and
Think only of circles, For circles are whole,
They don't cut and betray, like squares
Whose sharp edges can make gashes
Into your flesh.
Circles rescue you from the corners of a square,
That invites fear to put you on a stand
In front of a jury that has already
Announced its verdict: you are guilty of
Looking for safety in boxes.
Circles answer the questions that make you wait.
Questions are squares cut out of stone,
Unbending, unyielding. Circles help you
Pause.
Circles are for the silent ones with
Manic episodes that throw people
Into categories of crazy and unbalanced;
Circles retrieve your souls, light a fire
Against the darkness that oozes out
Of the words that are thrown around.
To make circles
Fold your hands in prayer
And don't beg for love anymore,
Draw a limit around yourself
And tell people--
'Keep off the grass
Don't pluck the flowers'
You must become a young garden
To bloom in a newborn circle.
