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.