Serenity in Chaos

The blue hue of the sky, so inviting, so large, so close. The clouds dance around my head leaving small puddles of rain around me. The vast darkness of space, mixed in with trillions of twinkles, make their way through the blue. The sky has officially fallen in on me. But not just the sky, buildings, and mountains, they all seem to fall. And here I am trying to build a house out of cards. Orange glows in the distance fills me with warmth, even at this distance. The crashing sounds wave, like ocean tides, washing away any glimpse of feeling I have left to feel. I gladly receive this baptism. I sit upon a hilltop, in a medium-sized home maybe about two or three bedrooms, in my meditative sitting position soaking up the waves and embers. Roars of wild beasts fill my heart with tingles that travel throughout my entire body, but I don’t have the ability to muster up the strength to even shed a blink. Beautiful luminous lights from the skies descend down to our land, as if on a business trip from the nebulas. I wonder what their business is for them being here, huh. But back to my house, it really isn’t even my house. I just found it on my pilgrimage and saw that there were no lights on and it was empty with an open door. It feels like mine though. I was looking for water and food, I found some, just haven’t decided to leave this place yet. Something about it is just so serene like I don’t have a care in the world anymore. People are littering the streets, setting up massive fires for warmth, and here I am, just a traveler in someone else’s home. Even though I’m not the only one that does this, it doesn’t feel the same with me. Am I supposed to be above this type of activity? I don’t know. All I know is that I haven’t moved from this porch yet in quite some time. I started to notice details in the design of this house, paneling for the sides, brick for the front, red shutters, and chimney. The reasoning for this type of shelter has now changed. The need for bolts, nails and wood, and weapons. I wonder what time was like when people felt more free, free to be themselves, free to love, free to care, free to do whatever they wanted. All I know is strife, violence, protection, hoarding, and micromanaging. All of these sights strike me as beautiful though, is it because this is all I’ve ever known? Have I truly come to accept, and embrace it? Has the world come to accept it and I follow suit? Huh. Why don’t I move from this porch? Am I scared, lazy, uninspired? What time is it? I should be getting back. The more I try to leave, the more this porch reaches its arms out and forces me not to move. If I leave, it might give this poor old porch a heartbreak, and what type of person would I be if I just left this porch all alone. I should be a good steward with it and keep it company, as it has accompanied me while I was lost in thought. Oh well, I guess we can both sit here and observe this immaculate devastating painting together, of the end of the world.