There's nothing
for me to account for
life is best lived
in my own singular-

each heart throbs
as driven by its desire
alone either in joy or sorrow
none other does know or could measure-

ah, solitude I choose
moments so majestical
the city lights I refuse
I shun the superficial-

if inspiring words
I should find--in my far corner-
the hours would smile
and hold my hand--in wondrous encounter.