There's a limit to what joy can bring,

There are days where we felt like a queen or king,

But felt like a puppet all wood and string,

There's a part of us only loneliness can sing.

A helping hand, a shoulder to cry on, a friend.

There's a part of us that only loneliness can end.

Where joy is often faked, while sadness does not pretend.

Sometimes said, sometimes felt. Often times penned.