Conspiracy to illuminate patterns upon your crops.
To make you feel there is something on top.
Looking down and projecting its energy on us.
Or spaceships from another dimension paying us a little attention.
Writing out the code that we should all see.
To realize that there is something larger than you and me.
Patterns, math and science as design objects we can touch.
Maybe stomped all over the world by unemployed artists during lunch.
All of these patterns can not be man made I believe.
An ancient natural order as old as Adam and Steve.
New Age propaganda to give us puzzles maybe?
To see order in chaos to make us believe?
To cast doubts on our Gods and beliefs it would seem.
To make us look at the amazing and possibly concede.
That we are as small as microbes and know as much.
No words can explain the mysteries around me.
Only simple adjectives that don’t give them the glory.
Patterns in the wood paneling across your room.
Patterns when I close my eyes that often bloom.
Call these patterns what you will if you trust.
Call them God.
Call them Allah.
Call them Buddha.
Call them Jesus.
Call them Nature.
Call them Aliens.
Call them all a Hoax if you must.
I’ll call them Beautiful and be just fine as such.