Mybe my dreams, of uncanny
Wanting a release, or to refurbished
Neither seems like a rare thought
Those sudden surges and urges
And only knowing I shall numb myself
Where, but in my mind am I truly free
Sans thoughts of belonging or bygones
And if I must question, poetic justice
It is a befitting to my life long cause
When does one begin to be
A loner, unwilling to be otherwise
Is it at the first
the second
or at the third loss?
Or is it when one meets another alike
When a loner meets loner is it a chance?
Or is it a tragic joke that nature spins?
Maybe loners are the same,
If they meet or greet,
They laugh at their choices,
or their mends.
And if by choice they wilfully tred
On a path of knowing the other self
Would they still be the loner they are
Or have they learnt to see themselves
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