Deserted by the world and people in it, traveling byways alone
onto myself.
Signs of maturity along the way, picking up without recognizing
what they are.
Becoming a part of me as I travel ever onward, never thinking
or dealing with conscious feelings.
Preferring instead to stay within a subconscious level where
it is safe and warm, free from the heartache of all others.
An inner sanctuary of my own, I would share it's secrets, but
no one wants to know about me or who I am, always giving up
before the very first block has been walked.
Other avenues are open to me and I can revel in their goodness,
staying calmly alone, yet wishing for just one friend to share
life with before the end that will soon be upon me.
Returning to my inner sanctum, always at the verge of suicide.
(5: 43 p.m. - 12/29/95)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem