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Alone
"Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym." (Stephen King) Prose or poetry.
BethMOHare

ALONE

There was no breast from which to suckle

There was no hand to pat my back

There was no counting during hide-and-seek

Of playdates and parties I did not speak

There was no aisle to walk down

No hand for me to hold

At breakfast and at super

My heart grew hard and cold

In daylight and in darkness

My own breath sounds filled my ears

At twilight and at sunset

At the solitude I cursed

And when the end of life drew near

Reflection my only goal

I looked in the rearview mirror

Dark and Empty met my eyes

Relationships I had not known

I had wasted all my time

When at the pearly gates I stood

I knocked but no one answered

The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

Were nowhere to be found

Through eternity I would venture

Unescorted in the clouds