My lonely is tantalizing and placid.
It isn’t tasting of hostility, sorrow, and vapid.
Although, it’s together with the toil of possible isolation,
It is gleaming smiles and the blooming of imagination.

My lonely isn’t frown lines and red-rimmed eyes.
My lonely leers at the spectre-silver moon in the ephemeral night skies.
It lingers in nature, blowing dandelion seeds and wishing,
The ease of cherubic innocence and the symphony of the birds singing.

My lonely welcomes positive solitude,
An absence of a presence with nothing more of a thought to allude.
Temporary but lingering!
Oh! How my inner depths are whispering!

My lonely isn’t a million gaunt shadows depreciating my being
Defiant eyes peering every obscure corner, belittling my intended meaning.
It’s the profound stillness of time and time for relief.
It’s facing adversity and refusing to fall into the cracks between.

My lonely can be seen as a polar-white star,
The one furthest away like a shining pinprick in a shroud of  dark.

With heavenly yet fleshy hands, offers me great pleasure

Every moment is inevitably, a leisure.