The Student Newspaper of Westminster Christian Academy

Emma Harris

Loneliness & The Sacredness of Poetry

I tend to feel lonely and, sometimes, fall into these phases of feeling detached from the world in a surreal way, almost as if I am trapped inside of a snow globe, as if a sheet of glass separates me from people and my surroundings; these phases where if I go through well-known places and see well-known faces, I feel as if I know them only from a lucid dream and not real memories. I feel disconnected, distant. But here’s the odd thing: despite my loneliness, I’m most certainly not alone. I have a wonderful family and set of friends, all of whom I know I can count on. I can contact them with a couple of clicks on my phone, I can text them, I can be in a room with most of them. I have family that will most certainly tell me a story about how they feel or felt the same way, and I also know that even if I didn’t have anyone, I would still have God. So why do I still feel alone sometimes? Like I do for most emotions and existential musings, I turned to poetry to find out (I sound like some newscaster the way I phrased that) and only fell further in love with the magic and rare sacredness that is poetry. 



I think I figured out why we’re so lonely,

When we know we’re not alone,

When we have people that love us,

Who will always be there, offering us a home, 

When we have people who don’t just say we’re here for you,

But they show their presence & reliability too. 


It’s because maybe we’re not alone in life,

But we feel we’re alone in our feelings,

We think we’re the only one who feels them,

And the world becomes an intangible thing,

We as solitude aliens can’t ever embrace,

And even if we know others feel the same,

The small doubt can never be erased,

Because you can never be quite sure what they feel. 


Maybe that’s why poetry is so sacred:

It’s the closest we can get to a confirmation. 



Maybe the reason poetry is so sacred,

Is because it’s the closest we can get,

To knowing someone feels exactly like us, 

Because when we walk through the stanzas,

And climb down the thought process,

And linger on certain lines & words,

We know somebody wrote them,

We know their pain has been heard,

And been felt enough to grab the world’s attention,

And though we know the poet might not be here for us,

Though we may never pass them in the street,

We know they’ve been in the same house,

And we know we’ve walked down the same road,

Just at different points in time,

Because it’s not only the poet who understands,

Who articulates what you felt you thought was so complicated,

That no one would ever be right there beside you, 

But it’s some of the people reading it too.


If you ever feel alone, I recommend poetry.



Emma Harris


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