Loneliness
It does rattle the Bone
To be oddly alone
And one makes prone
To fingering one’s phone:
The seed of solitude sown
And fruit of boredom grown,
Life is a hollow cone;
One like a defaulter over a loan;
In ears a loud insisting drone
Of an unseen plane being flown…
Loneliness reaches the bones
And speaks in our moans.
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