Behind the mechanistic rust,
disorder's din, confusion's dust,
a reason leaps without a sound
from the moment it was bound
to usher in unseen effects
and not in ways a mind expects.

For many, this is randomness
a game of chance, not one of chess,
some senseless series of events
removed from meanings and intents
- a world where unrelated change
lies inclined to disarrange.

Ecclesiastes reassures,
at any hour, cause endures,
ascribing seasons to all things
- those winters, autumns, summers, springs
alive and promptly, as designed,
with purpose and results aligned.

How comforting to contemplate
how everything shall culminate
however well I understand
what holds within the second hand
and why some minutes change the day
as time abides or flies away.