you long to find solitude;
the solitude of a forest in morning,
or a beach, or a meadow.
the solitude of a cathedral in the afternoon;
or a library, or a cafe window seat.
the solitude of your favorite chair in the evening;
of a cat, sleeping in your lap,
the solitude of one, and the one who will be.
you long for solitude.
you long for silence.
you long for stillness.
how many distractions will you gather in your day?
holding them, like a useless bag of stones
taken from the edge of the path until,
they weigh on your mind with
all those things left undone,
that cry out to be done,
that say they need to be done,
that bellow and roar to be done,
that whisper in nagging tones to be done,
that clamber and clatter over one another to be done
so someone else can say that they are done,
someone other than your true self.
you have one great and glorious purpose:
to love with all your heart.
how will you become a flame of love
when your hands are full of noise?