Hermit’s Pride and Dread

I was sitting in the park

the sky close to dark

when a fellow passed me

looking everything but free.

“Good day,” my cheery little greet

but he had no want to meet

with a brief tilt to his head

and nothing ever said.

I watched him with care

a difficulty not to stare,

he pulled out a book, you see,

and began to write with glee.

Perhaps an hour passed,

when he got up at last,

towards me a quick glance

a couple of pages he dropped by chance?

With a burning curiosity I leapt

and to the tree I deliberately crept,

on trifolded pages it read:

“A Hermit’s Pride & Dread.”

“What an odd title,” I thought,

So through the pages I sought

To comprehend what had been

A simple greeting, a dip of the chin.

Your eyes question my quietude

while I wrap myself in loving solitude

My simplicity is not listlessness

My silence is not thoughtlessness.

Would you coax a turtle from its shell

to bring my mind from its silent well

Simply because your spoken word

instead of my silence is preferred?

Can you not see the care in my eyes?

My heart an instrument that never lies

Forgive me for solitary is my choice

Whilst your comfort lies in your voice.

My mind may wander from time to time

to be lost in a world of thought is sublime,

but whenever and wherever I am needed

a friend’s sorrow and joy is always heeded.

Molding my own world is my pride

and dually it exists as my dread

For you see, it’s a continuous internal quarrel

of my loneliness and the world’s verbal moral.


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