The Hermit

Down an endless decrepit trail
In desolate covered mountainsides
Lie remnants and tales of self-imposed isolation
In my own mind, visioning his existence
I only see religious seclusion
Wrapped with a hint of perseverance
In a solitary life renouncing worldly concerns…

My perception of a mangy, gray, long-haired fellow
Something next to extremely weird
Deliberate, sensitive and mellow
Running dirty fingers about his beard
His intentions only of survival
Cultivated from a dark social past
Bushy eyebrows, eyes of fire, a heart of gold
Most certain, a communal outcast…

Basic instincts cultivating this land
Forging bonds with a higher power
Alone, not lonely, a spiritual stand
Existing solely in hushed silence
Communicating among sacred tones
Finding excuses for his disposition
Socially inept, chilling to the bone
Ghastly suffering years of dissolution…

Calloused strong hands carry the burden
Leaving little room for comfort
Desires for solitude overcome
Worldly and selfish aspiration
Somewhere between reclusive and torn
A creative creature is born
His heart is thirsty and yearning
For a life of super-natural conviction…

Charles Pease: born and raised in Chicago, a long-time Californian, retired/widowed who has been writing poetry for several years. His first two publications appear in October Hill Magazine, as well as BlazeVOX, The Blue Nib, North Dakota Quarterly, Calla Press, The Voices Project, and Vagabond Books.