Literature
Loving Loneliness
How often the cold wind blows,
Sunrise, sunset, that's how it goes.
Withered leaves dry and frail,
I often find myself walking down another's trail.
Each cold breath of death, iced and slick,
Their poisoned spoon, I'm forced to lick.
Smiles fade, I fear yours will too,
Every morning I'll be there, like the grass's dew.
Sapphire night, your eyes do speak,
Glistening like the moonlit creek.
What I had was lost, what was lost was found,
Your warm embrace, my heart did pound.