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.
