Isolation
Never has a soul made feel
The utter weight of what it lacks,
Than when by chance it’s made to see
Beyond the chasm of its lonely depths;
That peering on the world, it sees
A spark that imitates true flame,
So from that cold unfeeling sleep it wakes,
Beguiled by sudden hope to rise again;
Though waking only does it find
The traces of an empty shell –
A barren corpse devoid of warmth and light,
Wherein it longed eternal flame to dwell.
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