A Shaken Snow Globe

Grace Lipson

When the world ends And everything is swaying, drifting, Color blending, Until the city looks like an ocean— An ocean of paint, With the rainbow skyscrapers protruding from the waves, And purple asphalt cracking like a frozen lake; When chaos is raining, Like stones falling from the parting clouds, And music fills the air like smoke; When the world ends, And everyone is swimming, falling, or flying. People, as one, experiencing the magic, The chaos, And the darkness full of blinding colored lights; The giant dome of the clear sky, a glassy snow globe, Encapsulating all of life in its sparkling watery depths. It has been shaken, turned upside down! Stars fall from the sky like snow, Burning the ground where they land. Clouds drift down deserted alleyways, Searching for the shadow of the moon, Or a grassy hill to rest on. When the world ends, And existence melts like snowflakes on a lake And the earth spins faster, just a blur in the eyes of the universe, Time stands still, and all sounds grow louder. Now the music is deafening, like cracking bolts of red lightning.

Everything is coming apart, puzzle pieces floating through space, Connecting and forming new realities, never seen before. When the world ends I’ll be in the center of the chaos, The eye of the tornado. And I’ll be sitting, peaceful and ready. Watching the end of the world painting beautiful scenes on the canvas of the earth. I’ll be watching, experiencing, marveling. I’ll be writing a poem.