Poem- “Privacy”

“Privacy”

A book is written during loneliness.

It’s a feeling we don’t always feel and still write.

Writing risks unknown voices.

The reader accepts or declines my page by isolation.

Maybe authoring teachers get exempt.

Literature comes to people who are nowhere near me.

So, reading becomes loneliness to a degree.

Poems are read in public and must be read in private also.

Existence with and without someone is important.

Readers probably think I’m strange.

Notes are taken by me personally without constant grades and reminders.

A book can be discerned on specific lines or just whole.

Usually I’m silent.

You shouldn’t necessarily watch over me for unwritten rules.

Wits only please as distance reaches.

Love around us happens on dreaming sequences.

Facts may draw attention: maybe, maybe not.

I’m quite silenced by injustice.

Before taking a note I ask myself if sequencing begins with the finish.

Studying has to be leveled along ideas.

My entrance speaks in volume while leaving it alone marks me.

Even a word involves so many letters people imagine and never say.

Quiet study remains unseen since nature exists outside the human mind.

Guys think I play with them although I’m unaware of them.

Humanity seems disordered compared to one’s singular mind.

Concepts are so often assumed when only one person out there knows them.

As such, people try to love me when minds aren’t connected.

People try to question me when minds are connected.

There’s silence from noise and noise from silence.

Nobody is in this room as I write.

Opportunity is only figurative and guessed on.

Writers accept and reject random things in a lot of privacy.

So my authority over the poetry crowd isn’t realized in absence of response.

My love disappears without ever beginning for somebody else’s notion.

Call this bad philosophy if you will.

Dramatic events arrive on short notice by this time.

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