“No man is an island”, so the poet led,
Tho’ I ponder on that presumed refrain,
As I quietly lay awake in bed,
The small hours of the night ticking away overhead.
And I shall presume he included women,
Tho’ such things usually go unsaid.
But for a while back there, when gravely ill,
(And I will speak for others more stricken still).
An island I certainly felt..in a sea of pain,
Tho’ thoughts and comforting words,
Of close friends were given time and again,
But the pain…’twas MY pain..would always remain.
And for some; the pain of loneliness?
Or the loveless, wed in vain..?
The empty house, the unfeeling spouse?
Can comforting wisdom fill the void?
Or see televised braces of laughing faces,
Without a seeming care in the world?
When all sometimes needed is one reassuring word,
That is given so many times of late,
In banal, flippant gestures heard;
“LOVE the cut of that coat”, or “LOVE that orange cake!”
So perhaps we always an island remain,
Surrounded by ocean of the equally vain,
Crowding in suburban estates about,
To assuage a niggling, subconscious doubt;
That in the safety of a multitude,
Under one roof shelter from the rain,
We live out a life of dumb solitude..
Secure amid plenty of one mistaken refrain.