The Sycophancy of Absence

no, you cannot think
solitude is your friend,
look at her stretched on your bed,
a powdered courtesan with melting eyes,
worshipping at the altar of your gangrenous wounds,
serving pleasure and pain at your slightest whim,
she is fan and foe and fork-tongued destiny,
autumn leaf and snowflake and variegated sun,
why yearn for the spring of togetherness,
for a master, for a bloom,
for a promise of a moon that cannot survive the night,
when you can conjure in her scented breath,
the sycophancy of absence,
the servitude of aloneness,
what travesty can you divine,
in the soliloquy of the single,
in the homily of the harlot,
no, no, you cannot think,
that love is a fair friend,
that forever is the waiting beloved
with the enigmatic smile,
reach for the emptiness by your pillow,
feel her beating heart,
she is the enslaved soul of want,
she is the paramour of the moment,
she is what you lost
and what you have found again,
no, solitude is not your friend.

23 thoughts on “The Sycophancy of Absence

  1. Interesting characterization of solitude here…she means different things to different people. I’m with Victoria, I do enjoy my solitude but there is a balance to be had as well.


  2. Strong and cautionary write my friend, with some delicious writing too – both carried me away and gave me pause for thought too… Thank you…


Share your thoughts:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.