End of the Hunt
How many times did I feel it's chafe or chill? In
In how many metroploli, on how many highways, in how many dank caverns
did a gaunt and haunting nemisis appear in shadow and whisper a hollow
reminder: You are alone.
How many times was I one of Hopper's
eyeless urban "nighthawks" adrift in a stark domain,
frozen in alienation, unspeaking and unspoken to?
How often was I the face pressed against the rain-drenched bus window,
waving a final time to friends I couldn't take with me, or the tenant in the
sparsely furnished room pained by the sound of the throng below
but afraid to venture out for fear I would not belong.
How frequently in youthful, sojourns did I know the gnaw of desolation
as I sat on tavern stools imagining the juke box minstrels to be
my intimates, the indifferent bartender to be my father confessor or the pale
borealis of neon just outside to be some celestial beckoning sent just for me?
Such was alone. I fled from it frantically from one skyscrapered moonscape
to another, pursued, compelled, and hounded until at last, exhausted by flight,
I turned to confront it.........and found it had transformed.
It was no longer the visage of menace but, to my amazement, the comforting friend,
companion and mentor I welcome at last and know by the name ofsolitude.