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Alone Time

By: Christina Borg

About The Poem

A prolonged period of unemployment during the pandemic, and the feeling of emptiness that came with that, led me to write this poem.

The Poem

Time passes slowly
And she reclines still
In the quiet of a room
Overlooking the garden
Where trees stand tall,
Reaching high
With grape-coloured leaves, she could crush in her hands, and make into wine
Above, the sky
Through which planes frequently pass
At night, their lights flicker in a deep oasis of ultramarine blue
Grasping at solace
Against loneliness
Yet you are alone
With your disquiet.

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