One, two, three…1,2,3…

I was born a child of Chaos.

And learned early how to negotiate with Fear

Found Caution a constant companion,

A parent, lovingly suffocating, the one they hold so dear.

For decades I tried to outrun Chaos,

To free myself of those familial ties.

But Chaos, clever and ever patient,

Is a Force that will NOT be denied. 

The strands of Chaos run deep,

Imbedded in the fibers that guide my hand.

Often stretched beyond the neck,

A fiddle played in the finest marching band.

And as I have aged, there is one truth I’ve found,

Despite my loudest protests: When Chaos is near,

All the parts begin to work in concert,

Creating a symphony only I can hear.

The tune is sometimes frightening,

Even deafening for those that wander near.

But soon we work hand in hand in Harmony.

The Refrain comfortably settling, soothing me from ear to ear.

And then, if only for one brief measure,

Sense and order at once have been restored.

All of this happening inside my head,

A part of Chaos’ mighty score.

Undoubtedly, this Cacophony is an acquired taste.

A soundtrack most would never care to play.

With its backward syncopated rhythms,

And confounding time signature, changing day to day.

Adding to this mighty Opus, the melodies of my relations

Can surely be found throughout.

When I look at my hands, right down to my fingertips,

A child of Chaos am I, I see, there truly is no doubt.

As if on cue, in Unison, My siblings and I calmly begin to chant:

It is Here where my Peace is found.

My calm. My strength. My sovereignty.

In Chaos My joyful soul abounds.

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