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.