It might be said:
I slowly, yet eventually
Peered through the keyhole of a three-dimensional world.
How I saw all three? I’m not quite sure,
But all contained elements more distinct from the other,
So distinct, I don’t remember them all.
The keyhole, nothing more
Than a piece of rusted, brittle metal
Coiled, and carved… intricated into the miniscule
Dents which hold the answer to these curves
Contained within my nerves… ready to be twisted.
This room… these dimensions,
I can no longer class them under one area.
They were consumed by emotions, by values,
Purposefully, and tortuously designated,
But I just can’t… remember.
I can’t remember them, but these dimensions were meant for me.
They must have been, because I hold the key
To unlock the hole requiring the simplest
Twist of a persistent wrist,
But where is this hole I so consistently yearn for?
How nice is it for some people to symbolically express their thoughts through their writing? And many readers often interpret them differently.