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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Chaos

Chaos
is what falls through your fingers
catching sunshine.
Gnats in light.
Bubbles bursting
with a silent shout.
A chaotic heart!
The inner fathom of tears.
A song coming apart.
What life is.
The way crumbs
crumble around a plate.
Whether to knock
or not to knock,
to go or stay.

Chaos is what we eat,
what we find,
the unwritten letters of the future,
dying before they’re read.
The part of destiny
that death can never own.
To love your hair
and not some other’s.
The freedom of the wing
falling in the air.
How a vacuum
is a something around a nothing.

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