Solitude

If solitude burns me, let it burn me throughout

The flame isn’t unfamiliar nor grievous at all.

It sparks and light my soul in creative maneuvers

And I enjoy — The dream! — Of being alone.

If I pass through this life being own

A hermit without a religion nor ideal

Let my reclusion be unobserved

As with people I feel so uncommon.

Burn, oh leaves that make up my soul!

Your scent wafts gently through the air

It flows with the wind, to places afar

Bearing my essence, Ó verses I’ve penned.