Hermit

Nothing appeals to me anymore,
except the silence and the solitude.

Human contact has lost its once sought after allure.

Now I only want to sit and listen to the wind,
to lay on the ground and watch the clouds,
to stand in the garden and smell the fragrance of the lilac,
to feel the sun upon my skin,
the breeze upon my face,
the tear upon my cheek.

Am I falling into the hermit-age?
Even my writing begins to sound cliché.

When you have climbed the mountain
and found heaven in its lofty altitudes,
what’s the use of coming back down.

The body remains within the world,
but the essence that is you,
your spirit, your soul,
the part of you they cannot see,
the part that doesn’t belong in this world,
only wishes to be back atop the mountain.

You cannot show them what they will not see.
You cannot teach them what they will not know.
You cannot take them where they will not go.

So you sit silent,
and pretend not to know.