The universe within
The winds will keep blowing,
and the sun
will continue to both nurture and condemn
the crusted earth,
mortal bodies will either be fattened by the undulating
disposition of their surroundings,
or depleted.
the waves will wash weary shores
of barren and forsaken island paradises
long after the final breath has escaped from my lips.
So what is the purpose of being? I ask myself
during moments of tormented insomnia,
hounded by both conscious and unconscious actions to
cement my inert desire to belong and be needed
either to the masses,
ideally to the individual,
or better still
both.
The mountains that have survived centuries
of environmental torment,
nature’s punches and caresses
will not be moved
should I on the morrow
find my feet planted no longer on the soil
but rather,
beneath it.
The birthing will continue,
as will the dying
and the killing
of things old and new,
young lives will be cut short,
old lives brought to an abrupt end.
And still I watch.
waiting for signs from above, preferable above,
as that is where they tell me divinity lives,
and that all evil lurks beneath and at the core
of the dusty landscapes.
But how could the core of life conceal such evil?
How could the Mother entomb such spiritual deformities?
That is when it becomes quite clear
the universe is not out there.
but rather
within.
I cannot conjure the desire to know the beginning of time,
would prefer to know,
Why I am afraid of loneliness? And am scared by my own
lack of appetence?
Why I cannot love?
Why I prefer solitude?
For the universe will exist
as it always has
regardless
Whether I know or not.
Found in Rimfire: Poetry from Aboriginal Australia by Romaine Moreton, Alf Taylor and Michael J. Smith Magabala Books, 2000.
Moreton’s work is a republication of previous works found in The Callused Stick of Wanting, 1995.