chaos speech

no mythology has yet ever dared

to give me a name_I am no god

I have no place on any altar,

yet I am in all minds and to me

they all pay their tributes unawares.

men have experienced me

the moment that the flight of the bee

was no more sufficient to draw on flowers

the blossomed thoughts they couldn't

find the honey to soothe them down.

then I was already born but sacrificed

for other divinities to take my place

and describe the invisible will

that spun curiosity to overturn

shades in the stability of visions.

how could they have just given

a single form to celebrate my mutability?

I am the coiled body of contradiction

emerging from a moment of recognition

in the shed skin that leaves the snares outside.

I am the anvil and the fire

men plunge their bodies in,

to rescue coal from licking flames

betting they can smith a diamond

hammered by the envious tongues,

till the material is tempered and hardened

and reflects their nailing madness.

I am there steering in the darkness

that spread from the iris circled pupils

to the unlit cavern of the skull;

humankind tasted my tendril fingers

when their tongues ware wrapped

in choking desires for purifying words.

but they will never know how to pray

to shelter this grip in their insecurities:

a simple sentence said in the best faith,

maybe that would suffice, or the snake

sparkling its fang,s the spider shivering legs,

and all that till then was cherished,

held with confidence in the possible effort

that one believed itself capable of bearing,

fades away in an illusion too concrete,

the stingless pain for the abandoned doom.

with what endeavor they will shoulder

to avoid the cankering gulf of my abyss 

voiding beyond the voiced certainties

their throats reined to fence my taming,

unable to conquer the silliness of what 

they see and understand and profess

for the seriousness that they have chased

of their childish severity elevated to maturity.

foolish attempts to ban me from sight

to shelter me from what they call light,

for I am the nourishing mother

that breeds stillness with anxieties 

over the nurtured corpse

flying from the milked bosom

where they once held spawning their possibilities

from which they will never disentangle

their lost sanity.

all that is said and done

will go wasted but for my flaring

in the backfired bullet of selfesteem_

I deny nothing and I give equally

 to whoever does not ask for me;

there is not possible knowing

how I will be appearing in men's

explanatory particles of milled order,

for I am the innocent manifestation

of their arachnids instincts never quenched

lurking in the shadows their wisdom projects

to reach for a realm of light

that would transfix inspirations

to the dance of irrelevancies I only create and destroy