Beyond the Frame

The sun arose on cue again,

In perfect arcs across the dome,

Where every wave was choreographed,

And every breeze was blown.

The town would smile with practiced grace,

Each neighbor knew their line—

But he, the star, did not suspect

He lived inside design.

The streets were clean, the dogs were tame,

The paper boy ran true,

And all the world was neat and small,

Beneath a painted blue.

He chased the dream they handed him,

A house, a job, a wife—

Unknowing eyes behind the glass

Controlled his scripted life.

But somewhere deep behind his eyes

A whisper stirred and grew—

A question shaped like falling rain:

“What else is past this view?”

He asked, and walls began to creak,

The smiles stretched too thin,

The rhythm slipped, the truth leaked out—

And panic clawed within.

He ran toward the ocean’s edge,

To find the world was flat,

A stairway stood behind the clouds,

And signs that read: “Go Back.”

But on he climbed, to knocking doors,

Where silence filled the air—

The voice of gods came from above,

But he no longer cared.

For truth, though sharp, was better far

Than comfort steeped in lies,

He bowed, and with a trembling grin,

Walked through the painted sky.