Chaos
Chaos theory:
it states that we don’t know
what we’re doing and
it wouldn’t really matter
anyway, even if we did,
because life lacks meaning,
chance rules, and Lady Luck
with her lusty locks attached
to her forehead and she,
all bald and hairless
from behind, must be caught
as she arrives, because later
is much too late, and when past,
she’s gone for good and
our good luck’s gone with her,
and we’re left for ever,
sitting there, head in hands,
bemoaning all that milk spilled
before we ever had a chance
to actually taste it.
rogermoorepoet 
Sharply worded poem. I loved your comment, too, about not regretting the spilled milk. Time doesn’t stop for us…
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Another four inches of snow overnight … welcome spring … wherever you are … unbelievable … though I can remember an April, way back when in the Seventies, with nearly 20 inches of snow over the month … luckily, I’ve still got my snow tires on … won’t change them until next week … yikes, it looks miserable out there … and to think that yesterday we were working in the garden …
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Oh, Roger. That is painful! You have my sympathies…
STAY WARM!
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Ah, we better not waste our chances then!
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Hold them tight, with both hands, regret nothing, not even the spilled milk, and remember “we all have a rendez-vous with death …” lovely poem by the way, and so very sad, as others commented.
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I’ve been watching The Great War on American Experience – it’s a PBS documentary series and heard the poem there for the first time. It really stuck with me for its beauty and resignation.
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Wilfred Owen’s poems are like that, with a sharp cutting edge that leaves you with blood on your hands.
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Dulce Et Decorcum Est…
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Hmm 😒…
Chaos???
What a description and a way to analyze it…
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