I’m tired, feel forged
But authentic
I’m sick but feel strangely well
I look out, and see the devastations-
The constellations of entropy
While all is actually gathering into itself.
But see them all simultaneously
Amended, made well, whole. Strange
To see things whole when they are
So clearly fragmented. Prayer is
My best guess. Or, real art,
For all that follows.
For prayer sees things
For what they are
Despite the times.
And speaks accordingly.