Cosmic Tantrum
Utter quiet.
Not the animals of the night, falling asleep
not the animals of the morning, still stretching
not the gales of autumn
not the rains of spring.
It is, perhaps, a signal.
--
in the midst of quiet
a pungent feeling of sadness broke the last piece
the last pillar
the last binding
an ancient five-year-old's face scrunches
mouth contorted into an awful grimace
fists close
air rushes into the lungs
and the fit starts
--
The animals of the night,
the animals of the day,
all takes flight.
The very trees are shook, their bark torn apart in an effort to escape.
The gales blow in, then out
rain falls, then turns to mist
a crack opens in the floor, and hell abdicates
ghosts, ghouls, devils- all beings crumble in horror.
--
in the midst of chaos
reality melts into order
pieces shift into new places
the universe
has bent.
the face relaxes
the fists open
the grimace fades
breathing slows
and then life starts.