In between chaos and order hangs a bridge made of old wood and old rope,
the planks creak and moan under the pressure of footsteps,
back-and-forth man walks,
hovering between the two possibilities.
Tipped towards the dark by forces outside of him,
the chaotic unfolds the center and he falls apart,
his world, his mind, his heart consumed by anarchy,
which turns to arson,
burning away the innocence,
burning away the old bridge,
its charred remains fall into the abyss,
the whites of mans eyes look out through the darkness that shrouds him,
the heart is lost,
the limbs move in an erratic manner,
striking whatever is in its way,
transferring the pain, the hate, the chaos to whatever he touches,
he goes from a being to a man, to an animal and now to an It.
Behind the eyes the embers of order burn,
less so than before,
they search for the savior, thinking that the savior is out there,
for the disturber of the balance was external,
mistaken in this belief, the lost are never found.
The Spiritus Mundi aimlessly walks inside of man,
waiting to be held, waiting to be guided, waiting to become the guide,
in this disorder, what is required isn’t logic,
reason doesn’t build the bridge again,
the beast with the lions body must be tamed and upon it,
the mans head is placed,
and through such a harmony, a fusion of man and beast, the bridge is remade,
through such surrender, balance is restored.
But it’s easier said than done, like all things,
no one wants to let go of chaos,
it serves as an out,
a way to let go of responsibility,
a way to blame,
a way to survive,
no one wants to admit that the darkness is comforting,
that those thoughts are pleasing,
happy in the emptiness,
lost in the chaos,
happy in the chaos,
why be born again?
why restore the order?
why go through the pain?
Senseless beasts roam around,
intelligent fetus’ crawl around,
erratic and thoughtful,
misery and miserable,
only see a few who are beings,
those few are constantly struggling to stay whole,
as all around them is fire,
and the flame is so alluring.