Loneliness

Alone I step out into the night.

The isolation of the emptiness I feel inside,

like being the last soul alive.

The need to fill it with companionship,

so strong I'd pretend in a room of manikins,

until I return to the truth of my illusion.  

There is always the inevitable return.

I can only hide from myself for so long.

There's no escaping the home sickness that settles in,

like a fish out of water,

like plants’ roots out of the dirt.  

There's always a return or the sickness takes you,

to the ultimate return.

So I must face this, in this life or the next.

How to fill this emptiness?

I've tried marriage. I've tried career. I've tried drugs.

None could sustain the fullness that I seek.

I'm alone to struggle with this demon of separation.

There's no help line in the moment of truth.

Where is the seed that will sprout in my darkness?

To give light when I have lost my way,

to sprout into the love I always longed to give myself,

a gentle guiding whisper when I forget my place.

How can I help this take root,

to weather the storms together, the harsh climate of my persistent fears,

to be full, so overflowing that I can water your seedling,

so connected that I can brave the forty days,

to eventually return, as big as the final but with time left to sing at your homecoming party.

Together.