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.