happenstance

an event, a trigger that shouts into stale air breathing forth life cautious, wary, climbing like vines around a heart of something not yet determined, choices shaping existence, why gets replaced by how, readily absorbed, drunk down, fulfilled at the surface level, a distraction - eternity frowns from anxious scrambling, contest of peacocks come about with grand appearances: finalist strut about as vines reshape hearts beating wildly from all the sensations without stale, broody, damp wet earth reminding, of what? a stupor has come about when temporary is lived as infinity then the vastness of time and space crushes down on saplings who believed themselves wiser than gods, peacock feather get thrown back to sweet, patient, wet earth capturing all the junctures, crossroads, each vine engorged to remake of ends extending to more, extending to heaven, the contents of that paradise filled with earthly delights, the mind moans, groans, how to get that piece? ends ending with a fork, a twist, myriad actions locking in a being identified, a being made, a being lived as happenstance came about, a miracle or disaster retold by countless story tellers ... ... does it matter? merits, demerits, allowances, fortune, misfortunes splatter on this canvas, a painter brushes against the tides of change: tug, repel, submit, coerced, forced vines and mind meet together in one odd maze of ivory towers, theories, real life lived from people scraping by. an ignition, a spark, not electricity of connection, blows, bruises, statements to be made then it becomes quiet while others simmer, go with the flow, the nouveau riche pout, throw tantrums, remain bewildered at the world of less not wanting to flip another burger. how awful, gestures made, eye brows raised, happenstance mixed in with the concrete, the rock, stones, pebbles breaking, falling off the cliff , gold ore, a rolling lucky streak, millionaires are made till the last breath vanishes, journeys made, life recast, and heaven sits, waits, when happenstance gives, takes, to what appears to cruel, chaos, heavenly it matters not when psychological stasis is obtained, bliss, when a chorus of maidens and gentlemen sing the same choir bliss as a demented old man sigh his last breath all his skeletons erased from rehearsing, retelling, till the damp wet earth became still. angels and demons, heaven or hell, or nothing, the stories retold do not shape the painter's brush, god, devil or nothing untouched by the vines, the tides, the happenstance coloring once a white canvas, the choices we make our own, that final touch a gift or curse of free will.