The Great Kitchen Catastrophe
I reached for a vessel, a delicate glass,
A translucent phial of noble class,
Beside an old ewer and sacred water-urn,
When I stumbled on a canister—a fatal turn!
I attempted to smite, to strike with fury,
To save my clear flask from a clumsy jury,
Instead came a clash and a thunderous impact,
As my elbow met clay in a violent contact!
The floor began to shudder, to rock to the core,
As six crystal phials went crashing to the floor.
They started to clatter, resonate, and vibrate,
Shattering asunder at an alarming rate!
My cat began to totter, to wobble in fright,
As I delivered a thump in the mid-afternoon light.
This scene served to vex, to gall my poor soul,
And throw my calm mind into chaos whole.
It threatened to disquiet, to stir inner unrest,
Standing in opposition to my peaceful quest.
My anger collided in strife with the room,
As ceramic and glass met their shattering doom.
And yet, in the wreckage, I chose to surrender,
To yield to the grace of a silence so tender.
I pacified the storm, hushed the raging spirit within,
And lulled my poor mind past the terrible din.
We started to chime, to dwell in sweet concord,
As I swept up the pieces that lay on the board.
To gladden the heart and succor the weary,
I sat in profound stillness, no longer so dreary—
Laying down my broom armor, embracing the peace,
And letting all kitchen-based violence cease!
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