Author Information
Solitudinarian
Blessed be solitude
That space and time
Through which to know thyself
And in a sense no one else
To become intimate with silence,
Learn the sounds
Of the universe passing,
Know a nine-twelve heartbeat
From one trembling in at seven thirty on a restless empty evening
To question gravity, because
It seems to have more pull
Than it used to and physics don't work that way.
A wise man said solitude is the Gift,
Though, much like life,
Happens to be one unasked for.
One that takes as, or more readily
Than it grants what gifts often mean.
No replacement, no need for, no want for
There exists as much madness
In knowing as in not
To do both
Is no gift, but,
It is solitude.
