Isolation. A poem by Louis Connaire

I never want to read a book again
This extra time should be a god-sent blessing
But I could never call myself a friend.

Somewhere in all of this you’ll start confessing
To a vice you never knew you had
But now it’s yours and everyone must listen
It’s not going well; you’re taking it quite bad –

And I am silent, I am in the corner
I am invisible if ever I was seen
I am here but only in my own mind
You cannot see my state of constant being

I have lived here all my life

These are the alleys in which I have found rest

This is the ditch in which my petals bloomed
And withered

And bloomed again.

But now you walk boldly into no man’s land
Now you pick the pretty flowers and
Now you claim to have discovered
Something beautiful in the bland
Something wonderful now uncovered
Something I could never understand.

I hold my breath so not to shake the surface
I close my eyes and pray I won’t be seen
I have lived here all my life
Tread softly please
For you tread on my dreams.

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