The Thought Process

The marbles, dispersed, and unconstrained float carelessly, Magnetise, Mobilise, Into perfect linearity. As the magnetic force begins to falter, the marbles begin to fray, I find myself between realities, Of which neither I can appease, The delineation between chaos and order grow evermore astray. There are no gaps here in linearity, None through which for me to fall, Not a gap in between which I can crawl. Though in the safety of constraint I am, in fact, unfree. The marbles, in linearity, and constrained, they are perfunctory, De-magnetise, De-mobilise Imperfectly, into uncertain foray and insensible folly.