From birth we are

Immersed in chaos.

Some come to feel

Assailed, confounded,

While others still find hope.

What do the latter know

That some do not?

It's this:

If the world were not chaotic,

If the world were set and ordered,

Like a well constructed tune,

History would long since be writ.

If history 's writ

Then we're not  free.

If we're not free,

Then conscience has no meaning.

And it would be, as some despair,

We live and love in vain.

But we do not live and love in vain.

What we love has meaning,

Ironically, the price of meaning's chaos.

Chaos is the cost of

Living in a universe that

Will not say

What's good, what's bad,

What's worthy, what's unworthy.

But we have voices.

We have choices.

This I say:

"That the universe is random

Does not mean that you and I must be."

You and I distinguish 

Good and evil,

Though suffering cacophony's rule,

We are free to choose

What lies above,

Harmony and love,

And thus be free.

We are free,

Gloriously, defiantly free,

To hold the Love we find,

And therein

Seek shelter for a time.