All

Loneliness

Was my enemy

That always won the battles

and brought me to my knees

bloodied and bruised

Or so i told myself

In late-night conversations

As a child

and

as a child in a man’s body.

 

Defense is the first act of war

There is no greater sorrow than having an enemy

 

Sometimes

I become a young poet

And receive letters

From Rilke

That speak to me of my teacher

Loneliness

Not as the sorrow of being in solitude

But of the experience of it.

The vast

enormous

experience

of one’s own self

as nothing

and everything

in One.

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