The Hermit

One room shack
overgrown grasses and bushes
grease mixed with oregano
a dented metal cup hanging
on a nail by the rusted sink

Old man
40 years ago
he chose his retreat down
15 miles of dirt path
society’s rules and consumption
had overwhelmed him
crucified him

The woods his solace
the sounds of birds his neighbors
life was simple

Time has caught him
too old to move
suburbia has taken his woods
driven away his feathered friends

Dogs break the silence
dirt becomes asphalt
wires cut his horizon
autos roar
children scream
TV’s blare over the cedar fence

His thin body shakes with unholy vibrations
he is surrounded by brown light
his escape is barred

He is now blind and deaf
smells are all the same
living is a senseless ritual
the hermit’s shack is falling

Death is kindly knocking
his vision is restored from the inside
he hears angelic voices
the birds return

Once again his isolation is complete.


Futile Friendship

What message has fate
Upon us?

Cruel in it’s cold snow
Time lost in seasons

I knew you
Long before this lifetime…

Little doubt
In those organs
Of perception…

A sound of your voice
Too infrequent
This spell…

We must need
This pain…

The fantasy
Of a touch
More deeper
Than flesh
Creates a meaning
Of higher virtues

Longing to meet again
Beyond this plane
Beyond this time

I understand

I know sweet melancholy
Though time
Not spent
With you.