The Bliss of Solitude

The bliss of solitude awakens the imagination to dream; The inner eye sees things that our outer eyes only glean. What in broad daylight seems to us but a pale reflection Transforms at night when alone into an act of detection. By day I take note as I walk through a field of red poppies; The flowers dressed in glory seem but hand-traced copies. Nature’s plenitude simply stirs our idle hearts with desire; Later in solitude, sweet remembrance becomes soothing fire. All the blossoms of the earth cannot adorn this brief encounter. When the eye meets a single bloom when in the garden I saunter. On my twilight walk, I see the wings of a bird faintly humming; I took no notice, but in my solitude I hear the sound drumming. The mystery of wings seems to have a secret message to say, Unveiling a mysterious panorama with hidden meanings to convey. We can achieve in solitude what loneliness strives for and fails; Solitude opens gates of beatitude while loneliness only our travails. The burden of loneliness makes heavy work of the passage of time, While the bliss of solitude turns the silence of the desert into rhyme. Permit me the luxury of solitude to fill the lonely hours of my days; Loneliness I freely give away with the sound of a foghorn in the haze.