As always  there is a beginning.
A circle  births of herself
And all emerges.

A chaos.
A maelstrom.
But a nature too.
A sphere.

Northernmost natural population

Now comes  out of the maelstrom  an order.

All of these things  from the beginning.

In the space of time  the elements.
Each knows itself.
And the others  as it learns to dance.

And the sphere  is one with itself.
But yet it is not.

The colours burn  primordial  and primary.

As it is  with all beginnings  a dance of light.

On and on  it begins it marches  forward.
Leaving its past  behind.

Where others  might follow.

Each of itself  among them all.
And all of each.

They follow.
They dance.
They are.

The dance continues  the order matures.
The children  of the beginning  begat their own.

Until the beginning  is left behind.
And the children’s children  are one of themselves
yet remain of the others.

Some escape some destroy.
Some embrace.
And those who are  begat more.

Each of its past  then on to the future.
The dance of light  the dance is all  the dance is one.

It is birth.
It is the beginning.


The children’s children  continue the dance
until they pause  but onward  outward still.

The thralls have cooled  but the passion remains.

It grows.
It creates  an embrace  of matter.

Such as we know  for we shall inherit  the future.

Some whirl  upon themselves.
And others of the whole  each unique
but not.

Some shall find  the heart.
Charmed upon  themselves.

Until they find  the passion.
The balance.
As they burn.

Over and again.

End and beginning  the circle, the spheres
are perfect.

Primordial passion  become the mass  that is the spark

The dance is charged  over and again over.

The spark is the dance.
The dance is the light.

Onward  in the space  the sphere
that is time.


Now there is form.
Form begats form  helical by the nature  that is order.

Order is form.
Form is nature.
Nature is the spark  from the light.

The light  is the dance  of nature.

It is early now  of the third round  since the dawn.

And again an embrace
that clings  in a new dance  a new form.

It heaves.
It boils.
It erupts.
To take shape.

It remembers its birth.
A sphere.

But remains  near its mother’s embrace.

And share with her  the dance  of its siblings.
Each of their own  but all of one.

When finally  they have learned  and agree as one.

Their mother returns  to the force  of her light.

She dances  her radiant song  upon them.
Her children.

And she tells them  ‘You must seek your own way.’
For each is their own  but all are their mother.

Yet she alone  will continue  the dance of light.

And they  the children  will bask.

Drawn  to their mother.
Drawn to each other.

The maelstrom recedes.
Awaiting descendants.

Silent.  but not.
Patient  but not.

Somewhere  in the space that is time
the maelstrom  will dance a new story.

And descendants  will know of the dance.

June 9th 2012

I have lengthened many lines to make this chaotic poem/story prettier in the visual. Words and meaning remain unaltered from the original. My original idea was to retain chaos by avoiding any poetical conventions.

In other words, I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing.