Poem, 12/15

it’s late, i’m older now,

time to sleep alone, off to bed alone —

but not alone, not alone.

my mind gropes for clarity,

for moments of singularity,

each seeking for their own,

for his own, for her own.

i only ever want to develop, to hone.

sharp pangs ache my heart,

but i’ll just pour it into my art,

and create a visual home,

a place all my own, not alone.