Alone
by R.E. Slater
My time is measured in loneliness
but not as others measure loneliness
for my friends are my readings
and ideas, errands and activities,
though the fellowship of friends hasn't
been a part of my experience most of
my simple life.
I suppose this to be a great lost...
though I wouldn't know not having
the companionship of those who
reach out, call, visit, or stay in contact.
It just is, and it is in the solitary
moments of the day I read, write,
do small researches, fix and build
as I can in the twilight of life that
once held child-like wonder
across the whole of my being.
This wonder has not diminished
but my love of experiencing it
has slowed down beheld mainly
in the thoughts and questions
of my small grandchildren
who are natural mini-me's
growing into their own as quickly
as they can. Hopefully finding in
their own paths a kind of fellowship
I never had... or once had... only to
who are natural mini-me's
growing into their own as quickly
as they can. Hopefully finding in
their own paths a kind of fellowship
I never had... or once had... only to
watch it close up like a shutting door
difficult to open with the little
hands of a child reaching up, then
grasping lever, unable to push or
pull open, needing assist to enter
fair portal.
It's not enough then to walk alone,
though there are everyday people
mixing in and out of our lives; yet,
in truth, there be other ills of hurt
or harm, breakage or longing, which
measure relationships dearly held
then gone forever. It is there then in
the unspoken silences of weary day
wherein frail hearts may try, may not,
but may try again, bourne the hopes
but may try again, bourne the hopes
of the forlorn who too easily are blown
like scattering leaves upon the wind
into, and out of, the lives of one and all
day upon day, eve upon eve, till night's
final fellowship.
R.E. Slater
November 6, 2024
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