Solitude by Bob Martin | May 26, 2007 | Art, Artist, Culture, Poem | 0 comments Constant rush of noise, images and smells. Where do I start, where do I end. Fear is the realization of dependence. If I reach out to touch there would be more to comprehend. Where do I start, where will it end. bmartin/07 Twitter Share this:Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)MoreClick to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)Like this:Like Loading... Related Leave a ReplyCancel reply This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.