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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Terminal

The trains flew past.
The car I will enter
is on a siding taking passengers.
Something tells me
I do not have to go.
I do not have to join the train
to Heaven,
the caravan to everlasting.

I sit down on the suitcase
of my hopes and dreams.
The treasures I cited
in the book of life I wrote.
Not everything.
Just the beauty I found.
The love I had.
The meaning that was found
and understood.

The rest was cast away
in its newspaper.
Something to wrap garbage in.
Start a fire.
I watch the steam
released from the engine.
The grinding of iron wheels
and springs.
Is this the journey I want to take?

In my heart I pulled a blanket
over my head and fell asleep.
In the morning I woke
and saw no car or engine.
The suitcase was gone.
I went to the terminal
and admired its geraniums.
The windows were boarded.
The train had left without me.
I walked away.

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