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Solitude

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By Pamela B., Lynn, MA

   Rainwashed days

of faded grays,

and tattered dreams

Streets littered with broken

glass, a windswept world

of passing scenery

Shadows of darkness and

patterns of blurred colors

This is not Solitude



Solitude is a gliding bird

high above the world

The fragment of an image

of a pale flower

A cat on a rooftop watching

the coming of dawn

The shade of a mountain

or a cool sip of fresh water

To be alone with yourself

No social masks put on

to hide from others

Solitude is standing

by a clear, crystal fountain

For to be alone is not

to be lonely




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