Sharp edges forward

Sharp edges forward
Loneliness is a kind of tax we must pay for a certain
complexity of mind known as “individuality”,
even the titan poet Goethe (“Gerta”), social butterfly he was, surrounded by death’s knell, his nearest and dearest at his bedside,
desperately proclaimed,
“Nobody here knows me, I don’t really know anyone here,
nobody really can understand the other.”
What is vaulted in deep,
What we entertain in our mind’s playful, mad, subtle recess.
We sometimes must keep lonely in secret,
But Sharp edges forward
Brave you must be
With sharp edges brandished,
For all the world to see,
Against the dichotomy between honesty
and acceptability, faithful to the later most choose be,
But Perhaps fidelity to our mad integrity,
is worth the unwavering belief,
the unwillingness to compromise
the articles of faith we dearly hold in our mind; 
about what and how the experience of
Companionship or Intimacy must, should, and everything else they might ever be,
After all, no thing sweetens the height of these, like entropy’s certainty, like the universe’s ever widening, icy, nothingness,
Together we cast and forge our selves into the world, seeking others, ourselves, and life
With our sharp imperfect edges forward.

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