. . . alone may be

to be alone in nature's splendor is one thing

though in single isolation there,

nature's beauty/being keeps your heart warm sustained

even rocks will sing their songs of friendship's praise

to be alone in vacuum's space devoid of human touch

is yet another form of void,

of missing love, raw and hard

the mountains ominous, cruel and cold

for love is touch of heart/

its soul, 

its very membrane skin with spirit fingertips 

and sound of love in words contained therein

alone of heart may be,

though by people teeming, crowds surrounded

when sensations' separations be naked stripped

desolate in fear/ rejection mingled, 

laid bare exposed/ defenseless vulnerable 

to fear's raw face/ alone of heart

alone cries for companionship/

like an orphan in the wilderness

alone he feels/

no one to listen/

to hear his pangs of loneliness

he has no grip firm to hold/

it quivers weak and hollow

no easy path to follow

nothing tastes good to swallow

the joys of the fair are not there,

no pretty face to focus on/

beauty is but bland

no words to sooth/

though words be plenty

no gentle touch to lift as much

trembling is my companion

the rocks offer more solace than bread or drink

my heart is empty; it cannot speak

an inner voice it cruelly mocks me

my blood begins to leak/

at the rabid input thought 

for imagined friend

even foe/

forever absent

alone of loneliness is void of love, 

when isolation be raw and hard unwanted/

abandonment extreme/

supreme extensive/

intensive rejection 

by the whole

like a bullied child standing limp

alone with weakened knees

for love is touch of heart/ 

its soul,

its very membrane skin/ 

with spirit fingertips

with sound of love in words contained therein

though you be/

you find yourself alone