Desolate

We are spirits in a chrysalis

Ephemeral as a dream,

Reaching out in desperation

Touching shadows in a stream.

Ever seeking true communion

Barely stifling the scream,

For the dread of isolation

And the spaces in between.

Building arches over loneliness

From altars deep inside

To the paradise we squandered

In our arrogance and pride.

And our only consolation,

Every soul has wings to fly

Out of cages through the clouds

Above the sorrow and the sigh.

Copyright© Alan Gilbert 2012.