Cross roads within our pathways,
As our minds flock to our own rhythms.

Likes of individual galaxy compounded,
And formulated into a personal chemistry.

Truth of stars perflexed by undiscovered universe,
And each stars collide in the void vexed with uncontrolled momentum.

Yet there are the singlular truth in all chaos,
And the relentless ether split to the vastness of space,
Like calm ocean that allow our solice.

Those days are but a yonder,
As we ponder upon the yearning impulses.

In the stillness of a full cup of water without a pin drop,
And with inner thoughts still hunger,
But still reach the vestige garden alone.

Vintage of souls forgotten in our hearts,
And shattered beats asunder murmur in tranquility.

As perpatual ideals die in the burning stars,
We are in space alone in dreams.

No longer a thought of discord,
nor any dissidents displayed,
But maybe that was an act of love unspoken.

A regards to the singlular
Chaos,
But life dwelling is not a
Trek alone:

   I forecast order in a feminine
Touch that clouds the menacing
Aloness,
That order feminine
Which will throw away old
Things lukewarm in my
Memory,
The old cup that barely bears
The insignia of my team,
An order feminine which will
Prearrange all the chaos
And let me fill it's orders,
A space all my own,
A dusty garage
And all the feminine order
Will not follow me there,
But direct like a good woman
Does pushing behind every man.

An oder feminine like the sweet
Smelling home she scents
As with everything she touches,
    The chaos will never truly
Die,
It will slumber and awaken a few times a week,
An occasional game and fire and meat,
And filling in the time
Between the spaces,
An order feminine
Diguises a brute and differs
Into a man.

An agent, choosing freely
doomed to a  fate,  I  know not
or a puppet dangling from a string?

Imagine life as a choir of singlular ripples 
on the surface of a pond, entropic little  dances 
intersecting, until each has passed and gone, each
playing their part, in life's orchestra of cause and *effect

Ok. Before I go over the edge. Remember bed is over there.

Ok No what does modernisation really mean?
Can you utter a cause or a singlular theme?

Can you correspond with the elite
While they travail the armpit of luck
with money compete?

Is the totality of all modern hope
Just a pinch and a *****
At the mechanism that moves us forward?
Thought defunct.

Or really?
Is it completely
Debunked?

Have the affluent articulate contrived in their lair?
An image of hope that's been thought to declare
Constant reward
At the expense of a few
Whilst we stand in line waiting.
The snakes not the devil,
it's the queue.

Heaping on heartbreak
The causeless remiss
Seeking new nerves
Challenges this

Is mans attempt to organize a disparate group of words into a singlular coherant statement capable of telling the story of a life.

How and who decides
what
of these concepts to set
aside and which
        if any
Can be kept as set B-side
are manic.

We are kept here set here
beside our mania.
Inept except
We are exceptional at
our accepting our own
Any hour expecting
A guest is alone
A guess is unknown
As the guest refuses to show face or take name
Every one is the same,
And no one can be traced
So they claim that the taste
Left behind if the waste
In the wake of
Of the infamous singlular
Luciferous shadow...
Like as of the malicious
Behavior in which the
New users partake
Which is enough to shake
Many a good man foregone the
Veil of anonymity
Revealing the reason at the base
Of why so many of us fail
This game, we're frail
It's cold
To survive we lie,
And sail
And hold
Onto this thin veneer hoping
The world wI'll buy how we try to
appear
...I propose we are all driven by an inability to cope with our fear.

How and who decides
what
of these concepts to set
aside and which
        if any
Can be kept as set B-side
are manic.

Through Z we see that
everything is semantic.