In a way, we are always alone.
Born alone, live alone.
Sit in a desk, a car, a predicament…
alone. Wed alone, lie in bed alone,
end up dead alone.
There may be others surrounding us,
many or just The One, but they’re
and we are
A forest is nothing more than
a community of single trees,
each sustaining itself,
pushing out its own green,
dropping its own gold,
drawing rings around its heart
to keep count its solitary days.
But they each share this soil,
sip from the same water,
lean away as one from the same breeze,
hum the same rattling anthem
until falling, each with only themselves
to experience the drop and decay
as only it can.
In that respect we share so much
with one another, this solitude
within the thrashing, crashing days
and nights spent touching and being touched,
sleeping with only our own consciousness
even as we lie wrapped in another’s arms.
In our everyday looking from inside
at all those outside who are looking at us,
we can feel some peace knowing,
in our insular, armored,
outward seeking, inward keeping,
reflective, selective, selfish, selfless,
and unique aloneness,
we are not alone.