I'm a creator of things,
yet a gear being worn down.
I do not desire for things with my mind,
yet hope for things with my heart.
I exceed in mind and body,
yet am out-shined constantly.
The young look up to me,
Yet my peers question my means.
I know whatever I want to,
Yet something always puzzles me.
I'm a singer of songs and teller of tales,
but remain mute in public.
I want nothing when offered,
yet hunger for something always.
Nothing escapes my thoughts,
yet I'm not good enough (so I'm told).
Adaptive and living are my thoughts,
though engraved stone is my base.
I am extremely queer,
yet I make sense to me.
Ignorance is my bane,
yet idiots surround me.
I am exactly who I say I am,
yet I never reveal myself when I can.
I am content always and often happy,
yet when the rains come they hit hard.
Chaos is my name,
from which all things come.
