The gardeners of chaos

The  gardeners of  chaos have grown obese from feeding on the despair they have nurtured to ripeness.   They are never satiated.   Bindging on the empty calories of hopelessness until they vomit frothy agony.  The emptiness that follows is unbearable.  They live deep in the psyche, scattering like roaches into the unseen depths when a light is turned in their direction.  
My morbid curiosity leads me through these tunnels dug into the soul.  I sit in the center of the storm of karma, marveling at the mess they have made.  Extending myself past separateness into the place that they become me and me becomes we.  Past the place of other.  
I am also a gardener.  I know the rhythm of the moon in my bones.  Telling me when to plant and when to dig.   I plant peace in the heart of the earth and sooth the ragged soul.  Inviting all to grow the seeds of their becoming.  
Unfolding with the perfect push and pull of chaos.