the tyranny of solitude,
remiss to hold you close to others,
with self a burden on your shoulders,
you move uphill toward that ledge of fortitude,
with certainty tipping your every step,
returning not to end a battle or a war,
but a defeated purpose lost to senses,
climbing to feel that breeze clearing the slumber
that dragged you back to hope again so faithfully,
with chains felt riveted by gods themselves in honour
of being just oneself among the crowd
of figures made to follow or be followed,
the one who knew what pain felt like,
alone,
yet not in horror.
(inspired by the sounds of ‘Written in Stone’, by Ólafur Arnalds · Alice Sara Ott)