Commentary and Philosophy Poetry posted June 13, 2017

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This emotion is to known to us all.


by mike1817


Alone, the solitude of one's dolor
from having lost people and things;
man feels the lack of bright color
that eash new day never brings.
This is the man who lost hope
in the cradle and who sings
like a person trudging upslope.

Alone and despondent aren't bound.
They have their separate ways to resound.
Happiness, silliness, boredom and gloom
All can cohabit the very same room.
Alone, no sibs teaching me moves and stops,
I had realms of time to explore,
and develop my personal chops.
Alone, yes, and given no household chore,
was that the biggest problem I bore?
So I embraced my family motto, "Love Never Ends."

Treading what I saw as the lighter path,
I hoped to avoid nature's predictable wrath.
Whenever misfortune created blight
poetry always opened new light.
A pretty woman with sparkling sass
or similar qualities still stirs the past
and kindles desire to raise up a glass.

Sorrow and joy are not pure paints,
but together provide a mixture of taints.
Picture now the human pastiche
of each struggling to find its own niche.
Nature and nurture, scientifically svelte,
can't teach us to play the hand we were dealt.

Being salubrious or dour interacts with loneliness and aloneness. Nature or
nurture? Can we have an active role in finding an acceptable place for each
of us?
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Artwork by David Ruhl at

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