Alone
A state of being
You didn’t choose
Yet adapted to
Perchance gracefully.

Thousands around you
Hundreds you know
A dozen you could call
Close, or really so
And yet you remain
At your core
Alone.

The world has a way
Of moving, of being,
That is at odds
With who you are,
And what has been,
The rude reality
Of your existence;
And so you choose,
Out of wisdom perchance,
Or maybe sheer desperation,
The state of being
Alone.