The Wait of the World, a poem in 3 acts written by Helen Harrop (June 2012) Act One: The woman waits, The woman watches, All glacial grace As the world passes her by. All vitriol and volcano Beneath her micron thin skin. She travels on An arrested trajectory With no peace or progress. She is a dream dredger Who is drowning on dry land. Every day she fills her pockets With stone-dead desires And walks to “the bottom Of a great ocean of air”.
The woman waits, The woman watches For permission to proceed. All chaotic energy and wet steam, All silent fury and invisible screams. The vestiges of verbal violence Still hang heavy overhead Like storms over Thor’s anvil Threatening her mind’s meniscus. Her heart is a prismic prison, All refracted hope, All shattered light, All white heat. She is held together Against her will.
The world waits but forgets to watch And even the orbiting satellites Avert their gaze Until one day it slips her mind To hold her molecules together. And hairline cracks that race Across her porcelain mask Become fractured canyons. And the whole universe glimpses The glittering carbon centre Of this daily doomed star As she achieves escape velocity And hurtles into the world’s waiting arms. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Act Two: The world waits, The world watches Each extinguished epoch With the ignoble grace Of a billiard ball Unwrinkled by time. The world is a spinning spectator As race follows race With no winners or losers.
The earth continues With no worries of science Or physics, or gravity. Simply everything in its place And a place for Everything. No historic histrionics Just a past-less presence With no fear to furrow brows. The world just is and always was The universe’s eternal yes.
The globe endures Impermanent parasites; A barely perceptible, Innumerable nuisance. From ethereal single-cells To insignificant Jurassic beasts; All imaginary mosquitoes Evidenced only by their egos And their venomous bites. All fury beasts, All faithless and dreaming, All fearful and hiding, All hopeless and hurting, All hate-filled and hunting, All pestilence and predation.
The earth devours their dead Builds mountains from their bones And forests from their fallen flesh, Drawing their blood into its corpulent core. Deaf to their desperate prayers, Unmoved by their moods and means. Blind to the damage they do, The earth lives on in fermitude, not servitude. Each eon blinked by and instantly forgotten.
The world waits, The world watches As the moon conducts tides and The sun devours time and The universe opens its waiting arms. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Act Three: The universe waits, The universe watches Its juvenile galaxies Of birth stars and death stars Leaving their light legacies. Destruction and destiny Played out through An infinite sky ballet. All stagnant satellites, All ghostly globes, All spinning baubles And enslaved pebbles. Numerous as grains of sand, Smooth and bright As playground marbles. All fire and brimstone, All hell and highwater, All gas and vapour, All clumsy collisions All futile and futureless. An orbiting ossuary.
The universe waits, The universe watches For the final falling star For the celestial light to fade For the future to fold in on itself. One dark night of the soul And then ... Nothing. All blank horizons And inert energy laid bare Across the wide waiting sky.
The nothingness waits, The nothingness watches. And there is no end To the endless beginning.