A word seeming so little

A word used far too much

A word which I knew not of its meaning

until now

For to feel lonely does not mean

to be amid a desolate desert,

with no company

or to be inside a soundless,

Lifeless grave-

No, loneliness is far worse than this

Loneliness is preceded by a beautiful home

A cool, quiet spot by a lake

with distant sounds of

friendly, cheerful people,

Once glorified by melodies and forests

And feeling

Once lovely children, playing, singing

In the night

Now, somber, petrified by

the last waltz

Of sobs and help cries from the soul

And the lake after a final sunset

carries only shadows of trees

In the reflection

Only fading lights in the distance

Everything in its finality for the day

Everything torn

But not yet gone.

So pieces of broken hearts part

In every direction

And they are gone

And sobs turn to pensive stonefaces

attempting to look presentable

And now there is emptiness

Because we sit

Not in two worlds simultaneously

But in one that is ripped apart

So no one can feel whole again

I believe I can't

When the crack of my morning

means nothing but the beginning

of my thoughts-

My memories that I am living off-

Eating, breathing them.

This, I believe, is loneliness.