Lines

The plants lie green
against the brown bark of the tree.
Ants walk a fiery red
against the dark humus of Earth.
My soft pink fingertip clashes
against the warm silver of the keys I grasp.

I see with my eyes,
lines meeting lines,
distinctly defining the world I inhabit.
Names have arisen
out of what we are able to see,
creating even more lines
as you see in these words.

Yet with all these lines
that distinguish and define,
why is it
I cannot feel such with the depths of my heart?
This heart remains blind to what is what.
With light so bright,
lines fade,
shades dissipate,
and everything becomes one,
leaving only existence to persist.