Chaos
I am.
I am confused.
My mind becomes chaotic,
I try to grasp some logic
from the flotsam of my world.
Each time I bring a sense of order to this life
a contradiction comes to light creating strife
within the well-constructed frame of truth and lies,
the differences become obscure and order flies
like particles of smoke in gusts of wind.
The dark, a candle flame holds back,
in symmetry: the wick of black,
a cone of red then yellow hue,
a smooth unruffled plume
of gas takes flight
above the point of light
atop the flame
and then dissolves
in turbulence and chaos into dark.
I must be an aberration
or perhaps some strange mutation,
so different from those who find
relief and solace for their mind
in resonance of spiritual
belief and sacred ritual,
in sophistry in truth or fact
from guru or religious tract,
for every time I think I’ve found
a haven on the solid ground
of argued logic or belief,
complacency is all too brief
as contradictions reappear
to roil my mind but then make clear
the lie of my ephemeral peace?
The river’s water boils and swirls
in turbulence of waves and curls
and then just at the brink of fall,
flows smooth, and I become enthralled
by its nearness to perfection,
yet I grieve the next inflection
and its imminent dispersion into mist.
Did Mandelbrot peer in and glimpse the eye of God
or did Feigenbaum discern some rule of Chaos?
Fractal branching shows in our veins,
butterflies in China could bring rains,
and strange attractors might explain
our fluctuating climate, though in vain
do we predict the future’s skein.
How is it transcendental pi,
does not in time transmogrify
the circle’s perfect harmony?
Computed to infinity
it’s still not solved.
Disaster strikes and aid is sent
a continent away
by people generous to those
displaced by God.
A cold and homeless man
stands on the street,
ignored by those
who send their aid away.
Mother Teresa’s hospice gives
some dignity to those who live
in pain and who,
without the acolytes,
would die alone.
A passerby defies a flaming house
to save a child
and dies in the attempt.
A stately raptor stoops to capture
a fledging duckling from its place
beside the hen that must await
her dwindling brood’s eventual fate.
Nearby three eaglets will survive
due to her duckling’s sad demise.
Transcendental meditation,
Holy grace and dispensation,
legal court and deposition,
philosophic supposition,
Buddhist chant and
Yogic mantra,
and still, each hour,
a starving child dies.
Capitalism, communism,
socialism, protectionism,
centralize, free enterprise,
free trade, trade unions,
GATT, NAFTA,
World Bank, and IMF
and half the world survives,
on less than two dollars a day.
My mind’s abused.
I am confused.
Perhaps the candle’s flame is all.
© David E. Moon, 2014 All rights reserved