Sunday, January 11, 2015


My solitude
Is a dull-edged sword
That saws my heart
To torment my soul.
I ache and throb
Deep inside my chest
As if the scab was new
And yet it is my oldest.
At other times
Seclusion makes me strong
And almost fearless
Until I overstep -
But that never lasts long.
A man alone
Can be a man of stone -
Or so I roar.
And, as I explore
The poems I've moaned,
The bluntest blade is honed.

No comments: