comfort in being alone | poem

poetry

There is an ageing that has nothing to do with time.

It is unspent as pennies thrown down a well

the blackness drowns insane.

Alone is undefeated, deceit of Cassius

and it falls like chestnuts, whispers like rain

scatters earth as though confetti thrown over

too few, these days. Who knew, anyway

the end could feel as present as the start.

Hope comes with crims…