At the center of the valley of loneliness sad souls gather in silent congregation,
near the shores of a quiet lake, where snowflakes fall but fail to gather.
Cold waves lap against the land in steady rhythmic thumping.
Next to that is silence. No birds sing here, no animals rustle in the underbrush.
Tall evergreens stand in unity, ageless like the valley.
The skies are always gray, and the sun never manages to be seen.
The people wander, with nothing to say, they all feel the too much.
Lonely even together. Even suffering the same, there is an isolation to them.
Washed out features, sunken eyes, a ghostly presence.
No one hides here. All recognize each other in the valley.
It is a place we know well, that of our births, our lives, and our deaths.
No voice can penetrate the overwhelming sorrow and sadness that haunts us.
We cling to each other, hoping it will help, knowing that it doesn’t.
But we hope in helping the others that we can find some peace.
Sometimes we do, for a time, then we return to our natural state.
There is no escape from this place, from the haunting.
But deep down we know, that the loneliness is the voice of god,
singing to us of the sorrows we inflict and endure, that pain that exists.
We pray for him to save us. But he cannot. We have made this prison for ourselves.
So we will be here, for as long as we exist, living in the valley.