A Chaotic Calm

Calm’s eyes of warmth can brush The sea like fingers by The harp. Caress old Nature’s blush Until exhale the sky. The waves lie asleep, held Under his magic spell Are frozen in their frame. The moon And stars their light can quell. Align with such purpose Can force the scene to pain. A crystal is much less rigid - It could drive men insane. But like men, Calm has a sense of humor. So he stares at his work with squinted eyes And examines the tranquil, thirsting for more. Perhaps he was in the mood for gore? Stepping down, he hurls peace up to the skies. You see, it need not be Hallow’s Eve For Calm to don a mask of black and blue. He conjures crashing winds and blust’ring waves. Even the moon and stars shriek in terror. For Calm is gone and disorder can stew. Some think Calm is still at work for peace but Behind the mask is a familiar face. Fair, sometimes he gets bored with dull and plain. Once in a while he is driven insane. So new behavior will engorge its place. But it is over now And Calm can lift his hood. He shelves his staff with furrowed brow; Calm knows that he is good.