Sometimes people need to be alone.
The world, fast and frenetic,
with the things others demand
that I haven't the strength to endure them.
Some take bathes and soak
lighting candles to soothe tired eyes.
Others, walk along empty paths
reflecting on conversations of the day.
I enjoy warm water, too
and the soft flicker of candles,
pensive chats over coffee,
catting with all the voices in my head.
At times, I did need to be alone
to rebuild in myself, the mountain they expected.
True, it takes time to build mountains, but
is nothing compared to what it takes to erode them.
To others, when all is toweled and dried
and candles are snuffed out,
doors open, and strength
pours from their doorways like steam.
But mine do not.
Too much time, in baths alone
where the dripping tap, I feel,
is a Chinese Water Torture
and small flames will suffocate me
The warm water that,on occasion
laps at the chests of most, cools for me,
congealed, and then hardening around me.
An obsidian oubliette.
Footfalls of their walks lead them back
and they wave goodbye to the tiny inner voices
back in step, in file, ranked,
marching again, to someone Else's cadence.
But mine do not.
My path narrowed to a tightrope
longer than even my determined feet can carry.
Repeated,echoing voices, a dirge of fears,
stretched taught. The skin on a funeral drum.
