I don’t need my friends to come calling
banging on the door, bringing with them their platitudes
and childlike fairy-tales of happy ever after’s.
I enjoy my solitude – alone is me
I get along well, being by myself.
Does that make me sound ungrateful slightly the oddball
with my ladder, not altogether reaching normality’s floor?
Then to hell if it does – I can handle that, its people
who screw me up.
Sometimes I think I am a hologram lacking
of any bodily substance.
Therefore, I close my eyes
much preferring the world from behind this shuttered view
of which the solitude is so breathtakingly indescribable.
I know if I refuse to play their games, they will eventually leave.
Thankfully, I am not like them,
at least there is some sanity –
I have never travelled beyond me
nor spoken of my dreams, to the passing hoypoloi.
I am recognized for standing amid the flowers
spliced between a sea of graceful waving grasses,
behoving the ruddy heathen masses
who congregate my battles shore.
Always yet, as far away from perpetuity
as life is to – freedom
there are responses that only you can understand.
Yet before I goad them exposed,
draining their discomfort like some maiden
lying sick about her bed –
Would you keep pace with me, just this once
in this our house of my distress?
Oh, I know
there are less demanding crusades I could
well have considered asking.
But tell me please
where does heaven end its passage
permitting hell to keep me – mercilessly entertained.