The World, Sleeping
Sleeping in the blanket of morning mist,
Drowsy bluebells rest
Nothing draws a breath
When the sun still hasn’t woken up,
And the wind doesn’t blow.
Sitting in the grey mist
Leafy trees stand, their occupants
Stagnant is the morning
Where shadows slumber
Underneath a m o t i o n l e s s s k y.
Later, perhaps the birds will sing
As the sun
across the horizon,
Through the dark green leaves of
Tall, strong trees that are no longer
Later, perhaps the thick dense undergrowth
Will be filled with thundering children,
Laughing voices and their
And even later,
But far too soon,
The universe will spin
Until the birdsong stops
And the trees fall down
And the footsteps are no longer
But for now we see the world, sleeping.
I wrote this poem to create a pause—even a literary one—in the ever moving path of life. I wanted to write a poem about a small moment where it felt like everything was sleeping, waiting, resting. I wondered what that would feel like to the world, to the flora and fauna, to the natural things that move with the course of time. I tried using imagery to create my interpretation of that moment, that motionlessness.
The first two stanzas are about the world at rest, and I attempted to make the world seem stagnant in that moment, as if it had simply stopped spinning because it was tired of always going forward.
In the last three stanzas, I tried to share the message that the world will never go backward. All plants will wither and die and children will have to grow up, eventually the world will explode in a fiery ball of light, and in the distant future, humans will most likely cease to exist.
In this poem, the universe will spin into infinity, and that possibility is brought into focus but was never meant to be the highlight. This poem is about being in the Now, wherever that may be, and to take the world as it is Now instead of constantly striving to be in the future.