The Order of Chaos

Pollack bloomed late
But not me
I can't find it in my Fall
Small promise in my Spring
Splashed across our house wall

Doors are closing
I have the keys
But refuse to believe
I can use them

Don't like this writ of sad
I long for the positive hand
Knowing all is not
Golden Ratio
But parts are hues,
Not just the Bright White
Nor only the Black Dark

All sentients are learning this;
How to choose to evolve
To heed Treadwell's baby-cry
We create and destroy
together - one in the same

Of this,
I cannot speak
Mere language cannot hold
IT's name.

© CL Pridemore 2012 (01.011.11  - 12:55A CST)
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