White Round Thing

Here I am again on this familiar slate,

Where darkness once again cheers me,

The eyes left closed,

Afraid of what this reality might boast,

My eyes are hurting and my mouth gaping

Across the night,

A white round thing,

Radiant and boasting, a bright white thing,

All I witness is a white round thing,

Ignorant of what this significant thing,

Gravity, waves and a whole lot of other things,

I take for granted and only see a lamp kind of thing

The sun and the moon,

Each running on its appointed time,

But all I know is,

I can’t stare at the sun but the moon,

Despite being a reflection of the sun, the moon,

I see and yet see just a white round thing

Those who know and those who don’t,

Are they then considered equal?

Here is then the looming man,

Not necessarily blooming,

Wondering hopingly,

Inviting dead,

Yet not know a thing.