We try to join the dots
But life dictates that pictures must be drawn
So details blur and we are caught in hurried sketches
With pages turned and puzzles unexplored
We move in chapters, headings as our signposts
And books our milestones
Within the lines we colour
Or at least we try
We secretly despise the boundaries but fear the edge
Completion is pointless
This is not creation, its repetition
Our only choice, the colour and the stroke
We count the miles but live in hours
Quartered for convenience
We miss one third, at least to consciousness
We see in pictures, painted by our minds
And hear in ballads
Sung in camera
Our lives are octaves, defined in half tones
And keys of black and white
On which infinite melodies are played
Our shapes have names, our songs have scales
Our lives have days, our language, words
And yet we think infinite thoughts
Like fish might dream of clouds and rainbows
Chaos oversees an ordered universe
And in that order we are mindful of our creator
And as the Spirit moved over the waters
While all was formless, dark and empty
Man was created in Chaos’s likeness, male and female
