In The Aftermath

My finger tips hover over the keyboard momentarily while my eyes shift focus.

From my hands to hers and back again.

I trace every line, every wrinkle. Her story etched into her skin.

It’s sometimes hard for me to reconcile with the world

And its flagrant disregard for order.

Choosing simply to devolve into a chaotic system.

Where one choice offers an infinite amount of possibilities.

And each person is subject to the choices of others.

Left to fend for themselves in the aftermath.

The only comfort I take out of the chaos,

Is knowing that everybody is most likely confused

About what actually constitutes happiness.

Born Into Chaos

If eyes are a window to the soul, what would we see?

Would we see wealth or oppression?

Would we see a life used as the foundation for other’s success?

Or would we see a reflection of who we are?

A child, born into chaos, floating through the ether.

We breathe the same air, and walk the same soil.

We wake up to the same sun, and stare in awe at the same starry night.

We all feel love, comfort, sadness, hope;

The chill of winter, and the warmth of spring.

But over time, we learn about hatred, intolerance.

We are taught to unravel the common threads that bind us together.

One-by-one, we cast off those who are different.

We cut the perceived blights from our collective family tree.

Burying them with our own ignorance.

And for what?