THE LONER

The clouds are monstrous...
Sun hides her beautiful, glittering face from Earth.
Time crawls heavily on its belly, slithering along in pain, agony and dejection.

I have not seen Moon for ages...
Her tranquil, romantic glow is only a gloomy shadow;
And the clouds are monstrous, as they push and shove her.
The ruthless clouds bruise her, strip her of her bright beauty, within and without.


The sweet aroma of Mother Nature's delicate girl-petals evades me...
They have lost their youthful shine,
They have been robbed of their balmy softness.
And the clouds are monstrous, as they persuade Wind to cast an icy spell upon these fragile ladies.

Sleep would be the best painkiller, but she will not come.
The brow is drenched and The entire being burns, as though having been set to smolder on a spit.
Yet the blood is cold and her lips are blue with sorrow.
The clouds have been terribly monstrous.

Continually, they have spat in the face and then, they command Wind to blow the disgusting liquid dry.
And together with the spittle, the once boiling blood turns solid; a sticky mass.
Where is the heartbeat, where is it?!
Slowly, the body deteriorates and the spirit dies, while the soul sublimes...

And does no one see it all?
Does one live in a bubble, so that one's anguish cannot be seen, the tears tasted, the wailing heard?
Can a person be so invisible? So easily ignored? Left to suffer ALONE?
Or is it one's sheer un-importance, one's excessive deconstruction in another's mind?
Do people not value other people, their own people, as was once the norm?

Then: NOTHING! Nothing...
Void of feeling.
Seeing no more.
And all is lost now...
For an emotional, spiritual death supersedes a mere perishing of the flesh.
It remains Eternal.