This vain and empty Solitude,
Burdened with grief, wherein I brood,
On all I lack,
My mem'ry black.
I doubt the world was ever good.

Such brokenness lives in my soul,
Of emptiness the night is full.
Each whisp'ring thought
A bitter draught.
I doubt the broken can be whole.

A keen, deep longing dwells within,
My heart, yet all is black with sin.
No light to see,
Nor wish to be.
I doubt that light has ever been.

In emptiness I cannot feel
Nor thoughts of goodness e'er congeal,
From shadows deep.
My hope doth sleep.
I doubt that friends were ever real.

Yet only as my own heart would,
Feel and think, the shadows could,
By hope be slain.
Have faith again!
I doubt – this is my Solitude.

Poet's Note: This is the first of an anthology entitled "I Am and Consequences"