Solitude
There are two kinds of solitude.
The good kind is a happy sad.
Sweet rain, some tea, a deepening,
A gentle rest, a dreary glad.
A journal in a perfect spot,
A nestle in my favorite chair,
A swell of hygge in my heart,
A rambling and easy prayer.
The second kind is skeletal,
A ruined house without full walls,
A gust of freezing wind unchecked
Swirls around it’s empty halls.
And ghostly whispers haunt me here.
Solitude is miserable,
Unless you choose it willingly,
Unless your heart’s already full.
2018
The good kind is a happy sad.
Sweet rain, some tea, a deepening,
A gentle rest, a dreary glad.
A journal in a perfect spot,
A nestle in my favorite chair,
A swell of hygge in my heart,
A rambling and easy prayer.
The second kind is skeletal,
A ruined house without full walls,
A gust of freezing wind unchecked
Swirls around it’s empty halls.
And ghostly whispers haunt me here.
Solitude is miserable,
Unless you choose it willingly,
Unless your heart’s already full.
2018