Lonely gazes glumly at the world that bustles by,
from the tinted windows of her heart,
where no one sees her cry.
"Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink..."
They're close in their proximity,
but not in how they think.
As God withholds His comfort, despite her many prayers,
she searches humankind in vain
to find a soul that cares.
She smiles for their comfort, and tells them she's alright,
concealing, with a stoic face,
her torment day and night.
She'd rather suffer loneliness than suffer as a fool:
The people she has dared to love
have proven false and cruel...
They sought from her compassion and the honesty they lacked,
and used the shards of broken trust
to stab her in the back.
(How quickly hope is kindled, and how painfully it dies!
--- with accusations, exploitation,
fickleness and lies.)
She smothers in her hiding place, but so it has to be,
for there is no kindred spirit
with whom she could be free.
A lonely ultimatum in a world where no one cares:
Be genuine in one's own world,
or make pretend in theirs.