A Speck of Dust

Several novels read,

The worlds there lay in shackles.

No sight of a single thread

Of hope to hang on to.

Too much of disorder and it’s confusing

Everything in order,

And it’s intimidating

How to reach the middle ground?

There is always so much rage,

A rush of emotions unfathomable,

How long will this last,

Before the story turns over to the next page?

A perfect petite globe,

A thought as subjective as it gets.

It eventually becomes a pain,

As the sun finally sets.

A truly pure drop of water,

It doesn’t exist, that’s for sure.

Only a speck of dust,

To make the drop impure.

True Utopia,

A fictional concept as old as time,

Is something we believe in,

With no reason or rhyme.

Chaos being the ultimate reality,

Engulfs Order greedily.

For in Order lurks Chaos,

Waiting for the Order to fail, really.

There is no Utopia,

There is no pure drop of water.

Everything is Dystopia,

Every drop has its own speck of dust.

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