by E. R. S.

Created on: December 24, 2008

Solitude, and not.

The crack and rustled song,

the whispers of the grass

beneath the molding sky,

the twitching trees -

oh I have tried to say this twice

never came out right

it only works in the moonlight

with a cool breeze like a blanket

with the acoustics of my nerves at work

Solitude, I breathe and ease

an ode to you

You know what I am saying here

in this emptier than hollow room

in the echoless corridor.

Solitude, I slink and smooth

a writ to you - you make this

right as I write you.

Only you can make this,

if only your comforts

could be with me

when I am with others.

My voice sounds wrong

when bouncing off anothers ears

I only look good when I'm blind.

I'm waiting for that feeling

when the key clicks in all

the ways it should.

When what's on the tip of my tongue

reaches the tips of my fingers.

Feet planted,

Breath held,

I'm waiting for this to crystallize

into something beautiful.

Only that kind of mirror

can tell me who I am.

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