PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Solitude is a thing with claws.
On padded feet it walks the earth, a moment here, and the next gone.
Rumors whisper of its presence, leaving all unsure.
The bird sang happily unaware, as its own eulogy echoed on.

Solitude is the thing that’s small.
It’s hard to raise your voice when you’re under five feet tall.
With voice so meek, on deaf ears it falls.
Within the noise surrounding, it lies still.

Solitude is a snowflake on a winter night.
Its delicate cold frame falls without notice to the ground.
It looks in the warmly lit windows, holding back a sigh.
Amid its kind, without further protest, it disappears and dies.

Solitude is a wolf’s cry.
The sound echoes in the night, not knowing if anyone will hear.
For loss of home and hope, it sheds a single tear.
It fades away without a trace, as darkness draws ever near.

Solitude is an empty chair.
In the corner it sits and waits as pleasantries pass by.
The candlelight flickers, ever just out of reach.
Along the edge of light and shadow, it’s doomed to linger there.