The Beauty In Anarchy

Swirls of squalls and whirls of wind 

wreak apart the peace of heaven 

and instead born into a wrath 

sweeps the sky alas ~ 

 

It is 

chaos careening 

forwards and backwards,  

all directionless 

is it? 

 

The beauty in anarchy:

the soreness of solace 

strange oddities found in 

peculiar moments 

 

I think 

 

it's madly gorgeous 

the way rain falls 

into mouths of children; 

playing in storms 

so fearless and wondersome.