Where Revelation Breathes

The universe, drunk on its own mystery,  

spins threads we cannot see,  

strings them between strangers,  

an unseen harp vibrating in silence,  

until—plink—two notes collide somehow,  

brushing past the static of days.  

You didn’t know the world could open,  

didn’t know you’d been carrying questions,  

until that worn book, that hesitant hello,  

until coincidence bled into purpose.  

The air tilts in these moments,  

the ordinary takes on a silver sheen,  

like moonlight washing over a tired room.  

This is where revelation breathes,  

in the sudden, ferocious clarity of notice,  

in the shiver of recognition that says:  

yes, this is for you. Take it.  

This someone, this idea, this fleeting shape,  

was sent disguised as happenstance.  

And so the pen rises, trembling,  

faithful as a compass, obeying the pull—  

charting the maps of brief infinities.  

Your task is only to stay awake,  

to write in the language of epiphany,  

to hold this moment until it expands,  

until it hums, until it becomes.