The dot

Towards the inner realm of thought,
along all sides ideas get stuck to rot,
fade to times light and to its dark.
Against the vision it comes out stark.
Scraped and torn slowly the sides bleed,
diluting are the fading ideas to read.
The notions dried and scarred they hide,
the memories that came, shrank, and died.
This path towards the inner thought we spin,
no beginning or end to start or end within.
Distanced is the ideally visioned dot,
towards the inner idea of our thought.