Monday, November 25, 2013


When Loneliness visits
he sits down awhile,
I’ll offer him some tea
and perhaps I’ll enjoy the visit
because he always leaves me
better, braver

But he always stays longer than I plan
and I run out of things to give him – 
to distract him with

I’ve got songs for him, the sad ones
those make him go away
if the lyrics hit him softly and precisely

I’ve got poems for him to read
those satisfy him on occasion
if the words are just right

And when all that fails,
I’ve got people, people to introduce
people that scare him off
for days

But then – sometimes  
the songs, and poems, and people
aren’t enough
And he listens to Bright Eyes with me
and sings along
And he reads Sylvia Plath over my shoulder
and stays for every heavy word
He even accompanies me in crowded rooms
an invisible observer,
only whispering to me

like a ghost on my shoulder, in my ear

And I'm starting to think I'll befriend him,
even if the thought of him shakes me

Loneliness must be my friend  
after all
if he is the one that always stays
I know him well
after all this time
and I'll have to be his friend for now
if I'm going to be happy.

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