Tessellations

A picture and a truth.

And though supposed birds
may fly their angles
Across this lonely checkerboard,
The lower they go,
the more they are conformed
Unable to escape.

When the black and white has faded
Do not fear the devil, in all its horror
Instead the angel who wears the mask,
they go together.
A dreadful requiem
In perfect symmetry they somehow never collide.