The Arrival

The Silence Preceding

For years on end I have been sitting here,
impatiently awaiting potency: some explosive revelatory surge
that will carry me away and permit no looking back.
But this moment of deliverance has not arrived,
and I have done nothing to hasten it.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter.
Perhaps I wasn’t meant to do anything.
In which case, I have succeeded admirably.

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2 Comments to “The Arrival”

  1. Why is it that every single time that I read something by John T., it is something right out of my head? How does a grey cowboy think so much like this fellow who surely has lived a different life? It boggles me. Does looking too close at humanity do this to everyone?—sage

  2. It takes me into a mysterious aura, where every living thing grows with a specific sound, sound that nobody can hear; where in a black background stood an old castle, with decaying beauty, frightening spirits and horror mixed with love and death. And I like that kind of gothic romance.

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