Amidst a traffic stop with cars galore, I sit alone
Among the restaurant chatter of hungry platter, I sit alone
Upon a park bench viewing grills for chewing, I sit alone
At a meeting of minds pens clicking in time, I sit alone
At the movies with concessions spewing, I sit alone
Upon a backyard oasis in chairs with imperfect placement, I sit alone
Driving at night through a metropolis of might, I sit alone
In the checkout line for the basics of time, I sit alone
At a festival of numerous bodies in cumulous, I sit alone
In conversation with friend listening again, I sit alone
A meal with family chattering without profanity, I sit alone
Awakening to sunlight a memory to cause fright, I sit alone
To go about the day seeing angels at play, I sit alone
To know of none other than mutiplicity’s wonder, I sit alone
To find myself alone, the past stasis be known, is the articles of incorporation of traveling forward anew. A circle founded in the past is a circle remembered last, its timing unveiled, the departure prevailed.
Bubbles to the wind become circles of friends, the people sitting where sat, their musings gone, their flash, their echoing past, sings of a party down hither, the forks in the river.
The shifting perspective from the normality collective, the yawnings to grins about gossip’s next win. The whispering channels from social born battles, the tip toe away, alone has its say.
A searching for silence among the rampant movement of bodies in doing, an escape of few, finding places to choose. Hands relax from the clinch of white noise volume pinch, the mumblings of her about the bumblings he did. The he did say of the she did way.
Then I see another sitting alone. Their mouths, no sound. Their eyes do look or they focus in their nook. A story to say of alone within a day. What does this wonder alone know in their show? What do they sit with in their singular existence?
Do they know of the rainbow waters falling into the Valley of Archives? Do they remember the volleyed shot that ignited a Sun? Or the waving weightlessness felt floating atop seas of blue bonnets? What is it that they know as they sit alone?
I look off into the distance as a flash gives confirmation of a thought in contemplation. A person alone knows of something unknown. They know of the horse’s name, loyal and royal, climbing mountains that boil, fighting battles of toil. They know of a reaching hand in a world gone to sand, the sands of time holding record of another place, another vision of memory to hold alone in one’s space.
Their novel within, the chapters to describe, the pages to elaborate, what treasures are held within this singular shell? They sit alone with waves of mixed color flowing in activity. Their body disappears, their rainbow appears, a person sitting alone becomes a painting alive with a stride of a million plus palette, a driving force of a master painter’s course. They sip their coffee.
Across a room sits another in hue, alone in their day, alone they know their say. Alone do they know they are witnessed with admiration? Amidst a crowd there is a chance that eyes do fall upon them who understand them. A conversation ensues concerning the two, not of the average stake, but one of ornate contemplate. The beauty in a moment of the understanding of alonement. To take a perspective in view and wonder anew. The value of one alone is worth an eternity known.
For in a moment of contemplation of another’s simple sit comes a postcard of love delivered to an eternal address:
“Hello person across the room alone. I saw you on this day. I thought of all of the wondrous things that exist deep within you. Without you that would have not have been possible. Isn’t it wonderful to be able to write postcards in a moment? I’m grateful you are alive today. Thank you for all that you are. May this postcard find you somewhere upon a new shore.”
