This is not a poem of answers.
It is a reflection of solitude, companionship, and the quiet motivations that shape us.
There is no single rule for living.
But there is resonance — in the silent air.
Resonance in the Silent Air
Alone.
Dark nights evolved into overcast days,
And then back again, and again.
The repetition of the endless twenty-four,
Where each day is the same as the one before,
And the one after.
Alone.
Bereft of affection, heart forlorn.
Unending nights and days that must be borne,
Endured and survived, miserably at times,
Across this existence we call life.
We exist, we endeavor, we accomplish.
But are not noticeably living,
Solitary and unredeemed in our various... motivations.
Alone in a crowded room,
There is no connection there.
We feel that distance, that disconnection,
Keen and sharp as a scalpel—
The scalpel that cut us from our origin.
Alone we feel the future-past.
Alone we drift apart.
Alone we shall ever be—
For each beating of our heart
Or so, it seems will be,
Felt so very deeply.
Imagined, frequently.
Must we yield to this singular fate—
Or reach out for another to complete us?
Together
Together we see, succinctly.
Together we feel, emotively.
Together we live and are alive.
Together we are not alone.
For what is a day without a night,
And a life that is not conjoined?
Together, intermingled.
Yet—
What of a life absent of the congress of the flesh?
This, we learn from others,
And also from ourselves,
In whispers both soft and loud, even in denial:
You must forever practice it and be defined by it.
Passion and lust are but moments.
Never forever. Swiftly indulged.
They exist only in those instances—
And then, perhaps, only in memory,
Later to be remembered and counted,
And costed and never refunded.
You cannot pay in advanced.
The value of it... expires.
Not every body seeks such sensuality.
Some require it always.
For some, it is never.
For others, it is ever.
And for many, it fades—
Losing both its appeal
And its genetic imperative.
Companionship is as deep as any true love,
And more essential than any hedonistic desire.
For some, the interludes are essential—
But for most, from beginning or near the end,
It holds no eternal appeal,
If ever it was indeed a true requiem,
Or simply a provision of... obligation.
Not every human is drawn to the romance of the flesh.
But affection—we all require.
It is solace.
Solace for a lonely heart.
All hearts are lonely,
Even if that claim is disavowed.
Alone and Together
We seek the companions,
At the very least a solitary one.
To connect ourselves,
To concern ourselves,
To devote ourselves,
In very simple ways.
Simple, yes, but complex in depth.
Deeper than the deepest well.
Deeper than we will admit or will ever tell.
Deeper than even we can see clearly.
Resonance is often not valued mutually.
Those of beloved fur can fill the emptiness.
We seek the affection of the fur,
Or the warmth of another hand,
Or the close presence—in word or proximity.
We require connection, even if we reject the notion of it.
We can dance the dance with ourselves,
But we do not dance to silent air.
The resonance isn't there.
We need a contributory,
One to make the sounds we dance to,
Or for us to make the sounds for them.
Resonance... in our silent air.
When we seek the one,
we might actually be seeking the many,
the many resonances to fill our... vacancies.
There is no singular accepted rule for living.
If there was, it is in itself alone,
and only one.
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