Streets of Solitude

I would have sought some beautiful retreat, Remote from cities and the din of men, ~ Some tranquil shore where lake and forest meet By limpid stream or flower-lit, sylvan glen, And would have reared, where non could e'er intrude, A shrine to thee, O precious Solitude. ~ John L. Stoddard Like poet, Stoddard, I've found beautiful places to retreat. My safe havens are streets of solitude where I walk alone. They are not paved of gold for it's not their wealth I seek, nor do I feel cold when I step upon them in my bare feet. My road is not laid with yellow bricks lined with poppies It's not a wily wizard's help I implore from a city of green. My streets are serene, and in solitude I find peace of mind. I never have need to turn a blind eye to atrocities I've seen. No sticks and stones are thrown at me when I wander there Never do I feel the need to hurry along the paths with care Sometimes I wind my way down a country lane where I can act totally insane without fear of retribution, or the need to find a solution for worries that weigh me down. In my personal places, I don't wear a furrowed brow or a frown, One of the roads I often traveled is made of sand, where waves agree with my thoughts, and not with a reprimand. There are no rules at the ocean's side, no ebb and flow of a tide for only in myself do I confidently confide my sacred secrets. No false facades face these streets to swirl and curl my toes. No lies or alibis ever find a niche in corners or shadows, for all that matters is that I believe my streets of solitude have the amplitude to make me well, as if releasing me from the depths of hell. I dwell on such a street in my time of need. It happens when the outside world is focused on warring and greed. I erect barriers and blockades in my mind. No one can find me when my street is strong fortress strong, and no wrong invades my life. In silence I refuse to hear the bitterness of mankind, or the foolish words they speak, for they've been expelled. I rediscovered myself, time and again when I cross the threshold to the corner of Alone and Contented. I've not rented a room on any of my streets for a shelter is never needed. I've heeded the call of a babbling brook to sit a spell and simply read a book or close my eyes never fearing reprise or wear a disguise in self-defense. I can be idle or imagine I'm at a music recital, my fingers on piano keys. Please don't assume it's laziness I feel or that I'm antisocial, though sometimes being around others holds no appeal. It's my choice and I'm not being rude when I take a walk on my own. There is solace to be found in solitude. The streets give me freedom to choose my own way... but never to lose it or myself.