Just as the rain started to fall,
Forces of good and evil instantly clashed,
In circles and in twirls that darkens all,
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed,
First there was darkness without recognition,
Then slowly, an awareness of it,
An awareness that it wasn't the darkness of space,,cold, vast and remote,
It was a darkness that was covering him(good ), embracing him in manner of
a velvet shroud,
Creeping from the corners of his memory came the realization that he was still in the fat (evil) man's coffin,
He could feel along his shoulders the smooth, pleated silk of the lining and,
behind that, the sturdiness of the mahogany frame,
He wanted to raise the lid, but how much
time has passed? Was the tornado gone?
Holding his breath, he listened,
He listened through the pleated silk and
polished mahogany and heard nothing,
Not the sound of the wheel whistling, or the hail falling on the coffin lid, or of the church bell swinging on its hook unattended,
In order to be certain, he decided to open the coffin a track,
Turning his palms upward, he pressed at the lid, but the lid wouldn't budge,
Suddenly, it occurred to him with a touch of horror that in the aftermath of storm,
while he (good), someone might have happened upon the open grave and shoveled the mound of topsoil onto the coffin, finding the job,
Flexing his fingers in order to restore the
circulation to his limbs, he drew a breath,
put his palms again against the inner surface of the lid, and cooler air rushed to the coffin,
With a sense of relief, he(good), gathered his strength and pushed the lid all the way back, expecting to be gazing up in the afternoon sky,
But it wasn't the afternoon,
It looked to be in the middle of the night,
Raising a hand gently in the air, he(good)
saw that his skin reflected a flickering light,
Listening, he heard the long, hollow horn of a ship and the laughter of a gull, as of he were somewhere at sea, but then he heard a voice, declaring his forsakennes,
Finally he(good)rising to his feet realized the (evil) howl,
He wanted to call evil, the one who made him howling in anger and pain,
But understood that to do so would signal
to an unknown enemy and that he had regained consciousness,
Finally,, miracle is the regained breath of good over evil.
#WritcoPoemPrompt108

©Mishra Poonam