“My solitude does not depend on the presence or absence of people; on the contrary, I hate who steals my solitude, without, in exchange, offering me true company.”

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Mindless chatter, a ceaseless stream,

Hollow words of empty dreams.

False grins, false mirth, yet they question why

I abstain from their discordant, shallow tie.

I dig for substance in their smiles

To make their company worthwhile.

To find no cherished books, no melody's embrace,

No pondering of virtue, no moral grace.

So no wonder I prefer the silence.

In my head I’m not alone

I have my voice and many more,

With my imagination I can talk.

Without the shallow empty thoughts.

Labeled weird, a little odd

In my solitude I’ll rot.

Waiting till true company is found.

For loneliness is better than a room of silent sounds.