Shelter's Myth

Lost in creation’s workshop.

The throwing roar of the bursting engines loosed from their loads. Those great beings strained beating an awefull  improvisation. Their energy this terrible storm blasts ever around and never the eye.

This is. No matter you.

Stew jazz and psychedelia; becoming. Drop guard and drowning chaos spare witnessing moments of order; those free beings here and away, sparrows in the whirling deafening,  not things to be captured ordered, but glancing consciousnesses of their own, and our benefit the spinning whorls of their passing. While we struggle with breath, until lungs filled with chaos and away down its abyss, fulfilled at their just once witness.

Hiding, sheltered by architectures false order in the face of the raging struggle. Paper-thin sedations stage sets for shallow importances. Choose a life perfecting itsy bitsy statues as time crashes froth and generation. Or retreat altogether; hide from the beautiful chaos, hide in dogma, hide in fundamentalism. Commend your self to some dusty order, and live its rules your raft safe and sinking.

Live, be lived; a passenger. Hope to see those free wish nothing more.