Chaos in a wind, A whimper in a death, A poet stands in a crowd And lulls the words to grasp The emtptiness:
Let sleep the order, Chaos in a passion's touch, Feel the fiber of existence And know that one is nothing And everything to himself.
Chaos like the scream in agony And torture of the dance Under the forgotten night When under the portico You held back from destiny's Melody and order killed The unborn.
Quiet the noise of bitter Memory, take in hand that Chaos in a world of numbers And lose count the minutes That always seem fleeting,
And a poet overstressed, Underwhelming as poetry Became a job, When time is put into words, Take the first draft and run, Let go The editor.
Take it, Its still there, And the order is a chaos too.