Converged Atop a Lonely Island

I sit alone at a corner shop,

Eating my meal,

Content.

 

It's strange to be alone;

 

why

 

Not that I'm unaware of its presence,

Not that I fear it's belonging,

Not even that it's strange because of the surrounding people,

All accompanied by at least another.

 

My soul intrinsically separated,

Perhaps.

 

More likely,

I simply feel at ease.

 

and

 

As I watch the man I used to know,

In what I'm sure a business deal,

I ponder the rest of this restless crowd.

 

To the man sitting at the corner across,

Eating alone as well.

 

I question whether to stand up and unite,

To become alone together.

 

I don't know how the world may spin atop a shackled axis,

Or how the trees may burn beneath the sun,

 

But

 

I do know that in this moment,

As I watch you,

Alone,

There stands a thing within me.

 

I can't speak to its meaning,

If any at all.

 

yet

 

I know that I can sit,

Comfortably and alone,

on two islands converged.

 

So too,

Can the streaks of light scattered on the window,

Form an image of my eyes.

Converged atop a lonely islandDepressionImageryLonelyRevering

◄ Swaying of a Bird

Helpless ►

Comments

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adrian metcalf

Mon 12th Jun 2017 20:53

I agree with you, Michaela. many times not being alone is just too tiring.

thank you!

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Michaela Sheldon

Mon 12th Jun 2017 20:16

Being alone is one thing I have always adored. I found it a sort of power that I keep. Nowadays a lot of people are scared to do things on their own, scared that its definition may be exclusion. But I have always loved to watch, to just simply be.

Wonderfully put, Adrian. 🌷

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