Be Still the Lonely Chair

Still, the lonely chair.

Sometimes placed as if, to beckon another.

But below the begrudged earth…

No soul mate arises from the turf.


When well in mind.

When composed in soul.

I travel by the place that claimed to make my youth whole.


Though the canvas seat is aware of my grace.

Not a body to claim my face.

Profound is the dirt that gathers the whole.

Anguish the chrome contemplation of an  adrift soul.


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