Psyche
07-25-2006, 03:07 PM
This is a poem I wrote reflecting on the idea of chaos, and what chaos might be like if she were personified.
A Dirge For Chaos
Once again as the lights were dimmed I clambered to the top
I desperately evaded a leery floundering flop
A trash can face wrapped me up under lurching swings
My lips bent down in the mock dread it brings
My hand extended to the cosmos, the flick of the wrist
This iron-clad tower tottered into yonder mist
A sharp hiccup of glee escaped my venomous lips
Before me lay a waning eclipse, taken in decadent sips
A solar flare skid in the ether; a nightmare aurora
With deviant grace I shook Gaia’s fauna and flora
In my outstretched hands hung a tiny box
I was pining the absence of moon dust rocks
This stranger crept right up to my sorrowful frame
I bent lower still in solitude and visible shame
The box was marked an iridescent opaque glow
A curdled growl; the deepest merely for show
The dance of eons, the twilight cat-call, I sung a swansong
Trash-face leapt in a pirouette twelve feet long
I called to the heavens, my call to the skies;
“Wrap me up in your silvery shadowed disguise!
I, who for a millennia praised your phantom shores
I danced blindly by fern, woodland, and moors
Heed my word, these utterances from the fey
We are spirits of virtue but our quest ends this day!”
Then I spun in a wild frenzy of light (and fright)
The diminishing sight wrought on my nocturnal night
I giggled momentarily to my new found trash-friend,
“Come little Waste One, this is our galaxy’s end”
A Dirge For Chaos
Once again as the lights were dimmed I clambered to the top
I desperately evaded a leery floundering flop
A trash can face wrapped me up under lurching swings
My lips bent down in the mock dread it brings
My hand extended to the cosmos, the flick of the wrist
This iron-clad tower tottered into yonder mist
A sharp hiccup of glee escaped my venomous lips
Before me lay a waning eclipse, taken in decadent sips
A solar flare skid in the ether; a nightmare aurora
With deviant grace I shook Gaia’s fauna and flora
In my outstretched hands hung a tiny box
I was pining the absence of moon dust rocks
This stranger crept right up to my sorrowful frame
I bent lower still in solitude and visible shame
The box was marked an iridescent opaque glow
A curdled growl; the deepest merely for show
The dance of eons, the twilight cat-call, I sung a swansong
Trash-face leapt in a pirouette twelve feet long
I called to the heavens, my call to the skies;
“Wrap me up in your silvery shadowed disguise!
I, who for a millennia praised your phantom shores
I danced blindly by fern, woodland, and moors
Heed my word, these utterances from the fey
We are spirits of virtue but our quest ends this day!”
Then I spun in a wild frenzy of light (and fright)
The diminishing sight wrought on my nocturnal night
I giggled momentarily to my new found trash-friend,
“Come little Waste One, this is our galaxy’s end”