deepundergroundpoetry.com
Falling backwards with pride
Was I led here to master isolation? Are these tests torturing me so that I could breathe stranded? Are we here to become cave-dwelling monks?
If life is not communication. If life is not love... what is this realm?
I think, maybe.. just maybe the hermit within me has been misled. Solitude, as cosmic and perfect it is, requires the same old balance. Out of control, wholeness crumbles to isolation, paranoia, sickly yellow street lights...
Too much rain and grey sky grab you by the throat. Your head spins longing for oxygen, and you start to feel appreciation for the light you see at the end of the tunnel. It is the only light you can see. The sun has been gone for too long.
Without balance, solitude becomes
bitter loneliness.
Published 18th Nov 2020
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