Time Alone

Too much time alone
Thinking to yourself
Plotting….and often times
Pine for love, Pine for revolution
The pull to these two avenues , haunt the soul
But nothing compares to the thirst
Mouth habitually dry
Lips cracking, that go crimson with too familiar blood
Alone, with no moisture in the air but what imagination can conjure
Sitting in little boxes recycling thought after thought
Word after word and worst of all memories
They play like miniature movies in the mind
Reminders of better times….of worse times
Shoveling words into the mouths of old adversaries
Words they never said, that you wish they had
Sometimes reconciliation….sometimes pitiful apologies
Forcing adoration and love into those old unrequited flames
Fantasy replaces the past and woolgathering, the present
While apart of you is still testing the corners of your box
Hoping to find some kindred spirit to link to
Some passionate person with rage for one cause or another
That you can cling desperately too and charge ferociously
Without the fierceness of your stagnation holding you paralyzed and bitter
Unproductive like a withered fruit tree
If you believe in something….anything other than regret
You will forsake being alone for revolution
You will let old mistakes become new beginnings
And you WILL find a way to change your world


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