Without the will, power is meaningless. Without power, will is ineffective.

The artist's true power is deception. Mystery is her medium, myth is her message.

Without the willpower to do something, is it possible to will oneself to obtain it?

The artist only panders to nostalgia. The profit speaks about current events. The historian lays-out a plan for the future.

Could will be the emerged pattern of chemical and electrical forces, as evolved via the force of entropy?

Could we be driven to seek will? Can we will new drives?

Heartbreak is emotional entropy,
an inevitable unraveling, where love's warmth fades into the void, leaving only the cold, scattered remnants of what once was whole.

And as time stretches,
the heart begins to wane
it’s capacity to give, to hold,
to burn with the same intensity
growing dimmer and dimmer with each heartbreak.

For like energy lost to heat,
the heart's strength dissipates,
Unable to return to its original state.

The organized systems of the past,
become the random numbers of the future.

Drives
Entropy

The gray dark morning
Of an autumn blossom
Drab yet alive, forcing life
The world wants to slow
And my heart wants to sleep
Entropy moves, however enticing death may seem
Backed to a corner, we have no choice
But to awake

it is impossible to explain
   forever and one second are the same
without your time just make believe

How?
If even there were
A force in this universe
Sustaining life beyond just breath
Beyond this web of neurons
Firing in predictable patterns
Prescribing every inclination and desire
A flame in which is fully forged
The consciousness that
Dreams and dares all things
Beyond our mere survival

If even there were such a force
How would it be made known?
How does a foundation work
When the fundamental building blocks
Are massless, pointlike?
As much wave as particle
Basking in the sunlight of uncertainty
Existing in duality

How, when everything else is
Nothingness
A void a million billion times more extensive
Than anything substantial
That surrounds it
A vacuum that renders
The remaining matter pointless
How could force be hollow
Yet encompass all
What does it all mean
When all of matter falls in between

This unseen field
Rippling, wriggling, rigging
Everything it fills with the seedlings of decay
Each day
Moving along the breakdown towards
Entropy
Splendid chaos,
Almost too perfect to be called such

How could we not see
The force
Still elusive, but unchanged
Striking a balance
Between fate and volatility
The neverending battle
That morphs each how into a why
The demon and the butterfly

sunsets ripple across southern skies
like skipping stones across a pond.
i'm thinking about how we all die.
what will nothing feel like?
what did it feel like before?
i catch myself guessing -
the void and cold conjurings of a
scared temporary consciousness.
loneliness beckons and repulses me
in equal measures, existential inquiries
painting me into nihilistic corners.
is this just some brief gift?
i hem and haw and waste the light,
i become the universe i fear,
endlessly eating my thoughts,
embodying entropy as i gasp for air.