OK then, it's really a postulate
Which means that it cannot be proven
Instead is, now this you may rue,
Just fact that's 'supposed' to be true.
But let my math brain try to formulate
If right, then what sense can be woven?
Ideas that wind up emerging are
Quite new though they may be of interest.
It seems that Euclidean rules
Are not really much more than tools
And Spherical theorems like caviar
Can make your mind spin like a tourist.
In this foreign landscape the rules say that
Straight lines cross, their birthright declaring
And claim to be all parallel
Which seems to me some kind of hell
With no by your leave, waiting turn to bat
They touch more than once without caring.
With straights now curvaceously singular
They too now can play with each other
Great circles that can't go alone
Propinquity so overblown
Might kinkiness turn them all angular?
Or sameness make them ask why bother?
Topic(s) of this poem: life
Form: Syllabic Verse
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.