I wrote this poem in the summer of 1983.

A few miles’ drive from my house, I sat down on a bench, alone. I needed time for myself.

Looking and wondering, I waited for a bit, surrounded by swings and grass for sweet children’s play, but near a barbecue pit where I could burn my writing. Not my poems. Other writing.

After a while, I walked back to my car and picked up my bag of personal writing, then returned to the park.

Standing outside the circle of stones, I said a prayer for myself and for all who ever suffered a broken heart. Then, bit by bit, I watched my hurt, my pain, burn as I stirred the flaming paper into dry ashes. All I needed was to stand there and let it all go.

My eyes followed the smoke up into the sky, moving about from star to star, from constellation to constellation. I don’t know what I was searching for, but there was a quiet seclusion all around me. It felt kind and gentle, tranquil.

I sat back on the bench and allowed myself to feel the power. A translucent light glowed, kindling something within me. It ignited a flame, a flame so bright it has never left. So bright, I could remove myself from the presence of negativity. So bright, I could stand alone in any storm. So bright, I could let the light of self-acceptance fill my being in sweet solitude.

No one could see me glowing, but I did.

Shimmering Solitude

The sapphire sky
Did not shine
Until I saw
Translucent lights
Glistening a silent glow.

It was dark.
Silently, staring into
The star’s night,
I found myself far
Removed from reality,
Looking at the light
Of sweet solitude.