Alone

In solitude's embrace, I quietly dwell, No voices near, a silent, echoing spell. Writing poems to fill the empty time, Movies flicker, a lonely pantomime. Laying on the bed, shadows as my kin, A part of me finds solace within. Yet in the silence, a longing stirs, For someone's presence, a connection that blurs. Alone, a choice, but not entirely free, A paradox of longing, a melancholy decree. As the verses unfold and movies fade away, I navigate the quiet, where echoes stay.