Sitting in The Night Alone

By John I. Blair

Sitting in the night alone
I ponder on the problem
Of being by myself
Late in life.

I’m reminded of the man
Who inherited the Earth
After Armageddon
And rejoiced to know
He at last had all the books
Exclusively for him,
Then broke his glasses
And could not see.

As a boy I was content
With quiet hours in my room
Playing, reading, wondering.

To me that was a luxury,
A delight.

Now that I often have no choice
And rarely hear a voice except my own
The delight is gone.

©2016 John I. Blair