Chaos

Chaos hardly gets its due credit for filling your void,

The complaints against Chaos sometimes feels like pretentious quarrel between a couple,

You blame them as your curse but cannot sustain your existence without,

For the mind lives and dies a rookie in its management.

Worthy of an Ode

The air around transformed into fire 

Consumed to burn, burned to consume

'I'm not this, this is not me', fought the air

An Identity in trance, blinded in gloom

It's world got tipsy, beliefs in crisis

The air laid bare it's only Truth 

It's existence, a gift of nothingness

A surrender past it's rightful wrath

The time in "air-years" felt like decades

A notion of faith in action in auto-mode

Destroying atom by atom a million facades

Birthing heat and light worthy of an ode.

The Runs

The runs past flagposts one after another,

Uphill sometimes, flat grass beds at others

The spring at the feet, greased with love, Through flashes of Art and the beauty that fuels it.