An instrumental paradox-like chaos.

Laws and logics,

But gravity fails at times.

My thoughts swirling through the clouds,

Thoughts of joy linger on the whites,

Sadness on the grey,

And in a thunderstorm all is consumed.

Each storm ends in ambiguity,

Will there be sunshine,

Rain,

Another day of winds,

Twists and turns?

To take the reigns of a horse,

Galloping at a frightening pace without a pauze.

To fly down to a peaceful place,

When the thoughts’ energy finally runs out,

And sleep embraces me.

Obsecure dreams,

Subconscious processing of the relevant and irrelevant,

Before my eyes open to a sunny day.

I will the winds to be still,

And so they are.

But there is a terrible wrongness about it all.

The leaves shouldn’t be eternally motionless.

They should wither,

Dry up,

Be blown away into oblivion by winds that shan’t remember them.

Then new leaves will grow,

Bear fruit and bloom for all to see;

Welcome the sun and its seemingly endless energy.

Whether it’s a day where the leaves are blown away,

Or where my thoughts have been led astray;

I know it will be okay,

At the end of the final sunny day.

Time Taken: 17 minutes