Bird of Candor

Wings down

And at rest

All alone


Questioning why,

Why was I left


Why am I

The only one?


The pondering continues,

Focusing on the negative,

Barely glancing at the joys in possession:

Life, senses, beauty,




Perhaps loneliness is good

For awhile.

Nothing compares to


To Candor,

Thinking for oneself,

Deaf from the judgment of others,



So maybe the bird,

Filled with much more than realized,

Is lucky to be the one left behind,

For in this solitude

The bird has been found;

The bird has been found by himself.


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