It is the thing that a kid fears,
wakes him up from nightmares,
The thing that a wife detests,
awaiting for a shoulder to calm her unrest;
That emotion a widower feels,
as he, at the crossroads of life, kneels;
The tear on a parent's cheek,
gives away more than the lips could speak;
The inevitable truth,
causing people to go uncouth;
Robbed of grace and poise,
in this tryst with noise;
Lonely man was destined to be,
solitude was his bride to be;
Then why seek a consort,
when your soul is the last resort;
Is it the fear of silence,
the drear of melancholy?
Or the colloquy with your essence,
that makes you crave a coveted presence?
Camaraderie with your quintessence,
Indulging in shenanigans;
Life at your heart's behest,
cardinal to satiate your quest.
