In stillness, in silence, the lonely despair,
Yearning for something so common yet rare.
An ear to understand our sorrows,
A soul with which we share tomorrows.
Someone with whom we can grow old,
To warm our bleeding hearts. Now cold.
To feel another’s warm embrace,
Is foreign to us and out of place.
The mind races faster than the heart,
Thinking of endings but never a start.
The lonely are harsh and far too pensive,
We find our own flaws like self-loathing detectives.
There remains a stillness, a silence in the air,
For we lonely sow the seeds our own despair.