Poem: 11 P.M. yearnings

I have this continual urge

to travel again

(backpack boots hat map hope)

to hot dusty places, a

thousand potential strangers

or friends. We all

suckled on the collective

loneliness, soothed by moving

and moving always new,

no attachment or regret.

Now, I in my cold rain home

three layers and solo

candlelit nights writing,

yearning for an excuse for

this lethargy

of mind soul body heart,

the all-consuming mist

called Self Pity. My

aloneness does not fluctuate,

it is constant as my breath,

yet I soar and dive as friends

come and go.

Breathe in breathe out.

Let this urgent fiend

Loneliness not vice my lungs

or frighten me, let him

inspire introspection

to see the wholeness

take this Maya blindfold off

my eyes Loneliness.

Show me the truth.