At first, there was a chain reaction,
bright and enough to be seen in action,
A blast of color and twists, bursts of dust and paint.
A stop, a freeze, pinned to the sky like a faint
picture on the wall.
A freak of nature, a pounding in the head, brought to a crawl.
After time, the streams fell down, bringing nine more
freed itself from rapture with a rippling roar.
The wisps cleared fast like a wave through the clouds,
a stretch towards the ocean, bringing with it a shroud,
nailed to the window.
At first, there was a pattern in the stars,
wrapping, ringing, sheathing, breathing,
Then, there was a separation far to Mars,
wringing, reaping, teething, streaming.
The colors settled, and mountains fell,
there was only nine constellations, and a bell
that signaled the beginning of the end.
At first, there was rebirth,
small and frail, new and known,
and not a drop of blood born.
Eventually, a dam broke, and brought
rose-tinted winds and whirls,
broken trees, and petals unfurled.
Giving the word that the end was only
beginning to give rich, rustic, regal–