The Alone

Published on by Ann’s Aliens 
I work in my garden, alone,
But for bees that communicate 
Satisfaction with my efforts. 

The neighbors whisper and watch, 
Looking for an error, a stagger, 
Never once caring for more than gossip. 

I live alone in a house of people, 
Never noticed, never seen, 
The dust is my intimate friend. 

I watch the sunset from my window, 
Its golden light illuminating my 
Loneliness, I wish and dream. 

I had a friend once, 
He as golden as the sun. 
He left like all the others, without a storm. 

He was beautiful, rich, 
Filled with ideas to make the world better. 
As my world collapsed in tears, he left. 

Gold sunshine will return at sunset, 
Not always there, but returning 
To give me a kiss of hope. 

The neighbors will talk, and 
I will freeze Like a rabbit before the fox. 
Let them talk, I am deaf to them now.

discover-badge-circle (February 2nd, 2016)

225 thoughts on “The Alone”

  2. You have really got the art of expressing your emotions into the correct choice of words…but dear why so alone..you are an entity of the entire universe. The whole of the universe resides in you. There is absolutely nothing in the world that you can not do. Suffering and happiness are just facts of life. Explore your self to find something outside those facts..something so creative that you can create a masterpiece!

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  9. Pingback: The Alone: A Poem by Ann WJ White | mamabigsblog

  10. I have to wonder, if you were writing from your own perspective or the man in the picture. Maybe you were writing for each of us who has ever felt lonely. The truth is the opinions of “neighbours” don’t make us who we are.

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    1. Perhaps a bit of both. The man in the photo is Bill, thrown away by his family who wanted his money, betrayed by his neighbors, I found him hitchhiking by the side of the road. Two years later,he moved in with my family. We had such fun being visible to each other. In the end, his family got his money, I made sure of that. I had Bill, and that was the better deal. He died at home with me, holding my hand. He’s deeply in my soul.

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  13. The echos of my father’s words. He’s now left the world still feeling that way “Alone”. while I keep his memory alive; sometimes myself feeling alone despite being sourounded by the world.

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  21. Pingback: The Alone: A Poem by Ann WJ White | janguphotography

  45. Reblogged this on Things I've Learned… and commented:
    Sometimes a story, a poem just hits you, smack dab across the head. It reaches into your temporal lobe and says, “Hey, listen to this. It’s as if you wrote it. But it’s using someone else’s language!”
    Sometimes that story, that poem, talks to you and stirs within you a desire to talk back. This is one I want to talk back to. I want to tell the author, as if we were old friends and as if she understood the nuances of my life, how this poem fired off reflections of my own moments. And because of that, it reminds me of how much I love writing and how I have a sudden need to start doing it again. Here is one example:

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    1. I’ve spent much of the last 20 years alone. It’s hard to watch others suffering from it. I adopted the old man in the photo because of his pain. It was my gain. I would love to be able to do more, and I get in trouble sometimes because I do. Old friends know old friends or kindred spirits when they meet. Thanks for reading.

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