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.

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