Journal of a Nobody

So many waiting to be found:

the dead buried in unlikely places,

shallow graves,  in unhallowed ground;

the living interred in pointless lives,

unknown, unsought, unmissed;

bored husbands and wives hoping to be found

by others who might love them more, for a time;

the religious waiting to be found by God

    and rewarded for their faith;

gurus of one sort or another, waiting to be found

    by devotees;

the destitute waiting to be found by the rich

who, in turn, are afraid of being found by the poor;

the lonely waiting to be found by soul mates

    who never come;

children waiting to be found by parental approval.

Waiting on street corners,

waiting in our homes,

waiting on-line behind avatars,

waiting in office cubicles,

waiting at café tables hoping for someone to comment

    on the book we’re reading,

waiting to be noticed,

waiting to be selected,

waiting to be identified as unique

    in a world of sameness and cliché,

waiting while pretending

    not to be waiting,

waiting to live and waiting to die,

    at some point, either will do,

waiting for an explanation in the face of silence,

waiting for transcendence that is elusive,

waiting for answers that simply don’t exist.

waiting for courage,

waiting for rescue.

Waiting like shells on the beach,

    some chosen, most passed by.

Waiting for a reason to hope,

    but settling for a shopping spree.

And everything we do or say or even wear,

    is done in anticipation of being found:

the living and the dead, the idle and the busy,

the melancholy and the cheerful,

So many waiting,

never found.

violent lightning

I throw open my windows

and dare it to take me

When all goes quiet, the sound of eternity can at times be heard— the stars somehow closer and a sense of the earth’s moving.

kara neko

© roman T photography - All rights reserved.

Taichi Gondaira - 権平太一

“Lightning” from ‘Ukiyo-E’ series, 2014

Cole Thompson