It is lonely,

It is lonely,

With only one voice

Whispering on the inside.

But it can be peaceful.

It is easy to imagine

The chaos

Of an internal dialogue,

Becoming so closed,

It would be a struggle,

To separate

Truth, from fiction.

Creating a train wreck,

Of upside down

Inside out illusions,

Paranoid delusions,

Tearing me out of this

Cosy reverie.

Does that bring me closer

To an understanding.

Should I float away

In a subtle shift

Of inspiration,

Slipping into the warm

Waters of my soul,

And swim with dolphins.

Talk to an eagle

As it soars

In its eternal search

For prey.

Singular in purpose.

Will this teach me

How to focus.

And in this concentration

Will I hear a quiet voice,

Asking me to wait,

Settle down a minute,

Accept my fate,

Spend time dreaming,

Pick up a piece of soft wood,

Choose a small,

Sharp knife, and whittle.

Make something useful,

Instead of wasting time,

Waiting for an echo

In my heart,

To remind me,

Of what it means,

To be human.