In the triangle of life, the equidistant point’s hard to reach
There is a way in, through a sonic key
Divined by bygone maestros, who serenaded the heavens
There’s room at that center point, it’s empty as the blue sky
We are kept waiting, by the colloquial circle
That keeps us in a race that’s yet to be called
Checkered flags go up all the time
We escape only through our civilized gasps
Light that rises in the East, gives the gift
Of sight, to those destitute of wisdom
It shouldn't be, there is abundance everywhere
Millions of forms convey those same tidings
An oculist can’t help us see the moment
The true hour swallows even time
That’s where the key is kept
And in not what’s imminent or completed
Those are filled with colors, a rainbow would envy
Birth celebrated with festoons, death cloaked in dark hues
It’s color all the same, that of a time clock
It can be dropped, only if the life’s center is sought
It is tucked away in a woven mix of triangles
Geometrically so aligned, Euclid would be inspired
Unchanged since the beginning of time
It’s a map to the treasure, of the invisible soul
