When It’s Chaotic

Goodness must be among us, for darkness is at war, and

Spirit is heavy on a throttle. I can’t help but pause,

stepping

out the

margins,

mingling with a center. I baffle not myself,

for our worlds are different;

but the core, its root,

searches for happiness. I, therefore, reach for a message,

read

a fable, and welcome such differences.

There’s strife miles afar, lost for objectivity, moved by

confusion.

Thus, energy fluctuates, the sprout of several spouts. So

where

has order gone? she surfs a current, nudging thoughts,

working

between humans.

I’m overtime, seeking results, pulled by mini-planets; for

there’s a force, of great significance, posing resistance—

and

thankful for resilience.

Something bruised, sits—to ponder justice, rising at risk,

reminiscent of oldies and blues.

I read a signature and felt

a ghost, staring through my penmanship. What is this

mischief,

meeting difficult deadlines,

nearly dry and alert?

It’s a wealth of spirit, an inner guarantee, and two cups

of coffee.