Laser

You pick a path, and suddenly, the choices

You held congeal into a moving ray

Determined by each point in space

Preceding its motion, eternally random

And gracious. This forward impulse

Becomes then its own reason, but really,

Only by looking back a pattern emerges

Out of the sweetly discrete stillness.

So the movement becomes meaning,

Unknowingly, unavoidably,

For how can we dare to stop for a second

And stare at the beauty all around us

When there's so much yet to accomplish?

But then, this goal-oriented approach

Only sort of makes sense when you take a sudden

Snapshot of it and declare it your happiness.

Or does it? In reality, the only bliss we can claim

Is that of this very instant, the moment of creation itself.

By then the moving laser is gone, piercing

The very fabric of our constant thoughts,

Unstoppable, freezing and sentient

As a bursting fountain of indomitable chaos.