Beautiful Bedlam
by Sam M. Phillips

Man,
Beast,
Seeks a peace,
Unable to keep
All the confusing, fusing factors,
And fulminating factions
In line,
Can’t confine
And dictate
Or placate
A hungry horde,
Nature’s ward
Running amok,
Come unstuck
As the shackles come loose,
Unable to choose
Or regulate
The correct path,
Aftermath,
Proves futility,
There is no utility
In clamping down
On the ebbs and flows of nature,
So unsure
What can be done,
If anything can,
To keep us safe
In a pestilent world
Of power and will,
Never still,
Never sated,
This battle unabated,
Death rattle,
Life cattle,
Saddle up
And ride through what should be,
Why must we
Think it possible to forge a path
And keep it clear
When the forest is fuming,
A tropical warrior consuming,
Aggressive and unstoppable,
Seeks to expand and cover,
Endlessly smother
With teeming tendrils of beautiful bedlam,
It’s what I am,
And you are,
And yet we deny,
Tell each other the lie,
That good is good,
And bad is bad,
And one must go,
Though both are all we’ve ever had.

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