Solitude

Is it too late, To run away from the chaos In my head. To a place more quite Where solitude dwells In a house of gold; It does not glitter But sings the songs of a nightingale. My father often told me, Growth is where The thoughts in my mind Fly higher, exploring greater skies. Yet here I am looking down, At myself and wondering, Day drinking in my sorrows Awaiting the strike of five o clock. My therapist is My only hope who can force out The anxiety and stress. People always tell me "I'm no good" My failures have proven no better. I guess I tried, To pot sunflowers too close. But I think there is hope Hiding in my heart Waiting to pump out the toxic people. Because a solitary sunflower, Grows taller and stronger, Towards the sun.