Nothing but Chaos

26 October 2024

Humans live always on the edge of a knife,
and what separates death from life is decision,
made plain by the struggle, the crisis through which
we become what we aspire to be.

Metaphysics is goal-setting, a politics
of the imagination, turned upward by hope
to the light. Like all living things, humans
as well need that light, and the lack of it rots us
from root to branch. It's no wonder that we
are so rotten, indeed, it may be lack of wonder
that turns us away, back to mud and slime
and the perishing of all ideals. I am writing
to cast an illumination over all
that no longer deserves it, to thereby revive
and to elevate life from the trenches,
to send it back into the sky.

But what sky will receive us, who know too much,
who have tasted the fruit, who are God itself?
Only that which we dream for ourselves?
But my dream is not yours nor yours mine.
Yet we long for it, some true belonging,
the kind that was prophesied, coming to roost
over all. But which all? The true All, or just our "all",
the sum of experiences marking our world?
We say this will do, and we dare not look deeper,
for we find there nothing but chaos.