I wrote this 33 years ago after reading John Brunner's 1971 novel, The Traveller in don't think I never read any fantasy. I was reminded of this poem while thinking about the wonders of economic cycles. --JWSchmidt 23:02, 4 April 2009 (UTC)


When Chaos
shifts the foundations of sense
and minds of logic find no defense
for their thoughts that should
be correct, the world of good
and stable acts will lose
sway and the variables will choose
what the known is to be
and how much power for how much fee
will be given to this and that and anything
that one might possibly dream into being.

When Chaos
knows a thing to do, or if
it just has a fleeting wish
we see the immediate loss of sight
because of the awesome height
that Chaos and Impossible attain
while only scattered bits of sense remain
so that millions of us work and weary
to top the Terrible Things, and while doing this,
also forget that Chaos will not bring Bliss

When Chaos
like a passing plague has been out lasted in this world
we will find it grows too old,
for like an endless painting it grows so abstract
that the abstractness will be a pattern
(a contradiction for Chaos, as we learn)
and wise men will up and shout
"The age of Chaos is going out!"
and men will be sensible again until they refrain
and Chaos will rise to start the cycle all over again.

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