Of chimeras and vagaries

Of chimeras and vagaries,
of saints and their sin,
of the human condition
where do I begin

perhaps with love,
both fickle and cruel,
with its ungainly execution
and draconic rule

or maybe with conflict,
that staple of life,
let’s start with words unkind
and terminate at the thrust of a knife

or even control,
that sweet false lullaby we scream,
seeing patterns in chaos
is a mortal folly most obscene

Then far into the future,
on some ill-fated day
when reality fades to a dream
and I am old and grey

I might be truly happy
with what my hand had wrought.
Till then I pray in vain to find
the answers that I once sought