solitude

dies a good death,

when, finally, shared with a true person.

a true heart, a genuine soul;

a heart that has 

its bare feet on the soil,

its pure intentions in the wind.

an open hand, when asked for-

with an open mind, when mine's closed.
a peek at the door

asking how my day was.

treats for the children,

or even more-
accompanied by a cup of coffee,

the warm shoulder of being able to hand the load over.

solitude dies-

loneliness remains, however.

but you're not lost, 

you're not weird,

you're not unheard anymore.