…the second wave
‘Anticipation’ wears many masks
it comes in waves, gentle at first
then roaring, as an injured beast
in the final moments of battle
unrewarded, it ebbs
becoming strangely still
serene and silent
the servant of the moon
but beware the second wave
for it is tidal in nature
an instrument of devastation
that initially treads lightly
a contradiction to its nature
its mission, to raise expectations
to watch as hope rises
on its tattered, tired wings
its’ true purpose, a predator
with finely honed instincts
it chooses its prey carefully
plans the approach
paints the scene, inviting, serene
it toys with the truth
disguises lies and fabrications
painting everything in love and light
and endless possibilities
its brushstrokes soft and gentle
belying the darkness within
its seemingly tender attention
designed to reawaken anticipation
to sow the seeds of pleasure and pain
to channel a tidal wave of emotions
then delighting in its success
triumphant in gaining your trust
it waits and watches, imagining
the impending disappointment
its masterpiece now shifts
from art to music
playing in false harmony
tensions rising with the pitch
and for a moment it is lost
in its own illusions
visualising the final onslaught
the crescendo
the point where all hope is lost
admiring its own dark art
filled with self-importance
triumphant in its terrible deeds
indifferent to the damage done
the very definition of narcissism
‘Anticipation’, joyfully anticipating
the devastation it is wreaking
blithely unaware, that it is planning
its own inevitable demise
© Ann Bagnall
