The Confines of my solitude
Stricken to my confines,
my Heart’ contents of mellow.
Cello’d notes of Melancholy tones,
play off me melodically in a bellow.
Tunes of bliss to the SOLE— echo — in the abyss of the soul.
The solitude is a chill, but one finds warmth in his cold.
Inside of his of his Own is the Home he lives
And Inside and Alone is a Throne he sit
The Corrosion of weakness is done in a strength.
And the makings of a soldier are done when Entrenched.
Its reparation that is done when identified in one’s own Truth…
Therefore I find no confine within confines of my solitude.
…(a submission for Muse RCC)