Some poems take a lot more out of me to present to the public. This one was written more than thirty years ago. It lay among my papers, then I had to “de-clutter”, so I transferred, those I was somewhat partial to into soft copy versions. It was one of those pieces that I kept coming back to wondering if it was “naff” or okay. Finally last year, it was published in Robin Barratt’s collection of prose and poetry titled Lonely. It’s also available on Amazon.
Robin approached me and asked if I wanted to write for his rather sad, but cathartic collection. Along came this poem and three others all written at roughly the same time.
I guess it’s time to share it here.
Such solitariness I have known
The satisfaction of being myself
And me alone.
The breezes were my playmates
The rains were made for me
Who else had I need for
And who had need for me?
But then a yearning filled me
Strange and hitherto
Alien to my soul.
A disturbing thrashing around of my spirit.
To the unfeeling skies above me
There was someone else like me!
This solitariness I too have known
That I live and die