Chaos

Out of the swirling vortex of my mind
Full of half-formed thoughts
Un-named emotions
And fallow ground,
Lies a desire to create something, anything
With words.

I think of God
Who spoke
(Did He whisper, did He shout?)
Substance into that vast chaos
And created
All that we know.

At His command
There was light
And darkness,
Constellations,
Vegetation and water,
Animals and man.

And then
(Crescendo building)
There was woman.
Creation continues inside of her
With every child she bears,
A reflection of His original creativity, His original thought.

And so I sit at this computer
And ponder
And wonder
Why I've been given this creative gift
Of living
Via words on a page.

I wish I could speak;
To have an article already written,
Prose that makes sense,
A book to bring attention to societal wrongs...
Words to make any difference at all--
A crescendo.

But I am not God.
I am just me.
In His image,
Given a gift of words.
But unlike Him I strive, vainly at times
To make sense of the chaos in me.