in the silence and the solitude
of the drifting longing night
and the missing empty platitudes
that would clutter up my sight
in the moment, in the long open moment
when I have the canvas to myself,
build my dreams on the firmament
and need nobody else.
but then the worlds appear,
and their emptiness pains me so
that people are all but required
and I shouldn't be alone.
for whom do I build
if no-one's there to see...
though I build for myself,
alone doesn't mean free.