I hate nights spent in solitude <br />with nothing but the sound <br />of my breath: <br />s l o w l y inhale, <br />let it out even s l o w e r. <br /> <br />It seems the night will never end, <br />but it does, <br />and the sun barely shows <br />its large, round, golden face. <br />I rarely enjoy the morning though, <br />as I know it means the start <br />of one more l o n g, boring day, <br />and yet another l o n g, <br /> lonesome <br /> night in silence. <br /> <br />I have a dream- <br />the same each night: <br />about NOT having to cry <br />myself to sleep at night; <br />but every morning I wake up, <br />and realize it was just a fantasy. <br /> <br />I do not know how to break <br />this chain of continuous boredom <br />and complete <br /> solitude, <br />and I have no one to tell but <br /> myself.<br /><br />Theresa Potts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/solitude-19/
