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.