Of creatures cursed, forgotten by God, loneliness treats with no man
but lays the rules and decides later, deals out the fatal hand

Loneliness writes for us letters that make us turn and run
that score our backs like whips and hide our faces from the sun

Loneliness is a living thing with cold and very strong fingers
with a powerful and persuasive singing voice, with a smell that lingers

It thrives on solitary thoughts, it eats its way through ones' bones
Loneliness is a sad monarch who sits upon shame like a throne

clarence brown

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-daily-dread/