Shadow Play

Akesq01 ‘Bird’ @ Pixabay

Sometime in the empty hours,
unfazed that my screen light 
will raise another sleeper
from their rest

I read that loneliness 
has become the next 
elegant pursuit.

It's all the rage, apparently,
for some - still in full bloom 
of youth - to ape
the trappings of a
monastic life

(then document it for a distant multitude) 

They take bites alone in
restaurants;
roam unaccompanied
through their fashionably 
spartan living rooms,
and scan still, crystal
lakes against Technicolor skies.

Perhaps they really do know 
the lack, the loss, 
the long, lonely days
that gnaw to the bones.
Of the still and silent phones,
and questions unanswered
against cold, hard tiles.

Not least, the dearth of another's 
soft sighs against one's skin. 

But I hope it isn't so.

Better they make their shadow play
until the vanity of it fades. 

Then, with newfound humility, 
come to breathe another's air;
share another's life. 

For otherwise, 
how soon the years go by.

How senseless the world would be,
unloved.

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