solitude in the midst of company;
run to the solace of familiar shadows.
these hands that carry the world,
this heart that bears up the worn,
brave and strong;
bruised and scarred.
solitude promises safety, yet
the quiet carries a somber requiem.
travel on, gypsy wanderer;
carry on, lonely soul.
about the writer.
“Words are only postage stamps delivering the object for you to unwrap” (George Bernard Shaw)