Eremophobia
Fear of loneliness or of being oneself
Hi I. Hi me, on this, a birthday. Hi,
internal eye of this year's storm. Hello
you: point without an exclamation. Wave
a single hand, then wave the other, pair
them off. A sacrifice concise as this:
pity your pity today, and let it lie.
An alibi for a scoffing enemy.
Myself, and my most toxic company:
myself. These withered candles leak their wax.
What could these last wet decades turn, and wane.
Picture me, today, as a metronome.
I'm home, away, one way, the next, and strike
each hour, and strike again, a single tone,
one arm, one fist. Alone, exalt, against.
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1 comment:
This is a moving poem. It's also eerily wonderful to find it on my birthday.
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