A(lone)ly Day

I can't say they never told me to leave it alone

That literature was for aged men and love for the mature

To pursue the simpler things

Dance maybe

Or song

But I wanted art in my life

So I poured my heart into stanzas

And I fell in love with a poem.

-

What the writer never finds out

Is that no matter how sympathetic

How exceptionally attractive words can be

How delicious they taste as you devour them from paper

Rolling them around your mouth savoring the lyric

They have a distinct way

Of leaving you when you need them the most

And the tragedy of a forgotten lover sitting at a window on a lonely day

Is multiplied for the writer who can't find the right words to say

We never find out about that special aloneness

Until love has come

And it's too late to turn away.