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Alone Again

What has happened to the quiet morning

the tea cozy, Sunday sun just coming up

over fields of buttercups and lambs?


What has become of an empty seashore

stretching left and right uninterrupted, clean,

gulls, sand, little waves following each other

as far as you can see?


What has become of solitude?

What has happened to the quiet morning

a radio that only hisses the dreadful silence

of an empty city, plastic wrappers whipped

by wind under parked vehicles that never

move, their tires flat?


What has become of bustle?


What has become of us

                there’s no going back now

                        solitude or loneliness our only alternatives

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© Johnmichael Simon



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