What the Serpent Wrought

It starts with a small opening, not even a wound
But the opening grows, intensifies, parts
It is the rift of the world; a rift that begins to tear and to bleed and
to rend the mind and the lungs and the flesh.
We are no longer together, no longer one, no longer whole.
Instead there is a rupture so great there is no going back;
the history of the world is changing.

The pain is too much to bear.
It pulls the breath, gasping for air, gasping for relief.
The agony is all around, agony that
blurs the vision and scars the mind.
This is a pain that will never be forgotten, a pain
deep as the core of the human soul.
It will be remembered even by those who have not witnessed it.

The mind fills with fear, with anger, trying to make sense,
trying to stave off the pain; but finally yielding to desperation,
to nothing more than screams.
Pulling, tearing, separating.
The pain ebbs for what seems like seconds then it comes flooding again,
stealing away all thoughts, all passions, all comforts.
How can love ever again follow?

All around, there is sweat, and tears and blood
There is nowhere to hide, nowhere to go
to not know the misery now upon us.
We long for yesterday, we long for tomorrow
because this moment, these hours are too much,
too overwhelming, too far from peace.

And the wound tears open more, letting loose blood and
fear and the very real
threat of death if unchecked.

And then the child is born.