Will I?

Is there meaning,
a plan, a pattern, a script or a screenplay,
a recognisable shape to this disorder?
In the end, on the day after my last,
will hindsight justifiably explain
the inexplicable.
Will a moment arrive when, suddenly, unannounced, all the lights
will go on and
a delicious sigh of understanding will breathe:
"Of course, who would have guessed, if only I had known?"
Will I live to say:
"Thank God for these days?"