Solitude Poem by Theresa Potts
Solitude
I hate nights spent in solitude
with nothing but the sound
of my breath:
s l o w l y inhale,
let it out even s l o w e r.
It seems the night will never end,
but it does,
and the sun barely shows
its large, round, golden face.
I rarely enjoy the morning though,
as I know it means the start
of one more l o n g, boring day,
and yet another l o n g,
lonesome
night in silence.
I have a dream-
the same each night:
about NOT having to cry
myself to sleep at night;
but every morning I wake up,
and realize it was just a fantasy.
I do not know how to break
this chain of continuous boredom
and complete
solitude,
and I have no one to tell but
myself.
The finish here, Theresa, is just so...apt, but also rather comical on the strength of the irony at play. This is my story as well, Theresa, a cold, empty bed to climb into each night. Thanks for telling it. I recommend you to check out 'Solitude' by Julia Klimenova as well. In fact, check out just about all the writing from this young lady 'cause she's super! ! Warm regards, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/17/2024 10:15:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
'No one to tell but yourself'- and thankfully all of us. This is a perfect example of why poetry is so important! It is our best friend. We can say, feel, think of everything in the world, and poetry accepts us no matter what! ! So try not to feel so alone. I loved your poem and I rate it a 10! ! !