Solitude - 2 Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Perhaps loneliness,
Is to send letters to God
With all the sentiments wrapping, coiling
Like snakes on cedar wood, old flames dying

Conjoined bones disintegrating
Is this loneliness?
Perhaps, loneliness is
To cross the street, with your eyes

Straying somewhere, the vision in front of me
Is not real, it is a haze, a gyrating mirage
As the breeze sweeps the foliage
Away from the car tires, car horns blaring

I almost got hit by a motorcycle,
And I thought, why?
Why not let me die, it should make sense
Yet, the promise of a better day

In the spiralling crestfallen nights
As the moon unmasks hope,
Like a candle in the middle of a wet staircase
Loneliness is to confuse yourself
In the middle of certainty.

Loneliness, do I have to put meaning?
Tantamount to death, ambiguous in words
But pure and docile in deeds
I am liable to say, in the morning

That I am as bashful as a woman in a bed of roses
But in the evening, I will be jaded in between
Tears that shatter when they hit the linoleum floor,
Waiting for someone to pick me up through the door –

They never seem to happen
The scorning continues in my dreams,
I wake up, badly bruised
Though on the insides

Where my carnal flesh rots like sepulchres
My mind, like a morgue, occupied by dead memories
And events that made me
Write about a thing that most people take petty care about

Loneliness is wanting to forget you,
But never seem to do so in the melee of struggle and survival

The nights may be harsh and rude,
The days may be tempestuous and crude
But soon enough, when I only remember you
And not break in between,
I will be fine, though fine should nonetheless be defined again

In another life, maybe
In another world,
In another breath, another promise
Of a woman who would lest say that
She will perhaps, take care of me

The way the others didn’t
And that may be another defining moment
Of how, nothing is ever built to last,
And that old habits die hard

A love, feebly created dies fast
A moment in a dream where it does not inspire
Any smile to hang upon one’s wrinkled face,
Solitude is to dream of death, of loneliness

Acrimoniously, I am earnest to wager everything
For a happiness that cannot be stolen,
By hearts who do not know how to
Give value.