A poem about chaos

Chaos is the breath held

between the breaking and the unfolding,

the moment the old name falls

and the new one has not yet arrived.

Chaos is a cathedral with no walls,

where everything is unmade

so that anything new can be born.

In its smiling dark,

possibility flows like a diamond

fragile, sparkling, holy.

And when the dust settles,

You find that the wreckage was an altar

and the upheaval was a prayer

answered by change.

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