As always there is a beginning.
A circle births of herself
And all emerges.
But a nature too.
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.
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.
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 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
Some shall find the heart.
Charmed upon themselves.
Until they find the passion.
As they burn.
Over and again.
End and beginning the circle, the spheres
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.
To take shape.
It remembers its birth.
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.
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.
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.