Loneliness is
a single infant screaming in an empty room
wailing for rescue
that will not come
his face deepening in reds and purples
blood rising to fuel his anger
his indignance 
his demand for attention
his breath catches
in short, ragged gasps 
needing more and more air
to sustain this level of fury
there is no answer
no comforting arms or soft words
and soon, with energy spent,
he quiets
he hiccups
he accepts.

no where to go, no place to be
sit and watch people bustling in front of me
hurrying to work, to home, to play
no notice as i watch them on their way

rain starts pouring out of the gray sky
like a giant hand had turned a giant faucet
but still i sit here on the rain-slicked bench
shirt clinging and hair dripping in my face

only thing i come up with as i sit and stare
at nothing in particular in wet clothes and underwear
it sounds silly but i prefer dreaming to being awake
at least dreams are a reality that i make

i’ve heard people say that i’m better off
no one to worry about or answer to
despite what they say there’s one thing i know
whether on top of the hill or at the bottom
you are all alone

if you could package loneliness it would look like this
ambling my way back to wherever it is i don’t need to be
people push past, bump me in their hurry to escape
i go on my way, out of sight, down an empty street

people have told me that i’m better off
no one to worry about or answer to
despite what they say there’s one thing i’ve learned
whether on top of the hill or at the bottom
you are all alone
(2-12-04)