- Books, Literature, and Writing
Waiting By Myself
I wrote this many years ago:
Alone again, to me myself.
No stars in the sky, no books on the shelf.
Happy voices from off afar.
A screeching owl, a speeding car.
Walking alone contemplating;
why I'm here and always waiting.
Why I wait I do not know.
The seasons change, there they go.
The wind blows hard and also soft.
Here it comes, but where is it off?
Time creeps rapidly by;
like a relationship, like clouds in the sky.
See how concepts move
with no desire to speak?
What do you know?
What secrets do you keep?
Or are you like me and no longer try?
Your eyes want tears but you find they are dry.
No difference what's what, please don't go deep.
I'll just keep to myself and silently weep.