Most of the people hate isolation
only a few taking it as blessing
and such is the one I'm talking about.

What if the familiar have shunned me,
he would say, the world is now mine,
to the strangers I bare my heart,
as they do to me, a complete stranger,
in the once and possibly the only meet
between people otherwise divided
exchanging thoughts and contacts
sure no call would ever follow
but happy in the chance encounter.

He thus meets a melange of people,
the man whose wife fled with her lover,
the woman whose husband deserted her
but she still wears red in his name,
the son abandoned in childhood
the old woman disowned by son.

He takes all their sadness into him
and feels his own greatly diminished
thankful that fate hasn't been as harsh
or how he would have coped with
the misfortunes that befelled those strangers.

He bows his head, for in the isolation,
he knew how it hurts to be deprived of
what was obviously legitimate.
Eric W 17h
I am aboard
a rudderless ship
completely lost
in your ocean eyes.
Completely at mercy to the whims of the sea.
Eric W 2d
This cooling air brings peace to my bones,
settles me into the chilly night like
a leaf resting upon the soil beds of

The Earth has swallowed my sorrow,
my bitter bile and writhing spirit
in the yesterdays and days
to come.

No longer do I fight for flight,
and my intentions always see the light
of truth and the open air of what’s
in store.

With open hands I have released
what it means to hold closely the thorns
of whimsy and doubt and accepted the gift
of more.
Eric W 4d
Cool comfortors on a chilly night
and body heat to soothe,
a lazy morning but a busy day,
a kiss goodbye and a kiss
to sway
into the night below the stars,
a warm and crackling fire
where Winter air meets
our skin.
A sharp word or retort in
loving candor,
an encouraging nod in the times
of doubt.
The pain and loss and the shakes
that come inevitably, and
the joy of gain and new
smiling faces.
This life with all its
complicated grief about,
these things I’d share with you.
Eric W 5d
Intractable debts against my own
observation often leads to
the crumbling of larger structures.
I’ll fix them if able, or
let them seize in midair,
choke on the ash and dust
of what is or hasn’t been said.
Indeterminate motives cage my
actions, a half or whole, an all
or not, a stutter and stop,
and trip over my own self-aggrandizement,
half-stepping into the patterns
I’ve seen before.
Next page