Cynical_Hermit
Shared on Thu, 06/12/2008 - 18:35A hermit does as a hermit will, but what that might be not even the hermit will say. So instead as I drape myself once more in thought and solitude I shall leave you with a simple poem of mine. Something that might bring a brief moment of silence, a laugh, a tear or perhaps just a shake of the head...one cannot really know how words will affect them until they absorb them...so absorb and enjoy until next our next possible crossing of paths.
Through darkest eyes of midnight glass,
through fog so bright, white is another shade of grey,
wandering, wandering in the silence of the grave.
Thus do I find myself in the haunt of memories past.
Despair, pride, honor and treachery,
hate, love friendship and hostility,
swirling, swirling the images in my mind,
screaming, crying from myself I cannot hide.
Lost to the embrace of yesterday,
hidden are the paths of tomorrow,
searching, searching for the key to seal,
numb fingers fumbling, fighting for freedom.
Thus do I find myself in the haunt of memories past,
thus the future is frozen, yet still do I hide.
Is this death and hell that I have been thrust into,
or am I in a prison of my own design?
Wandering, hiding, seeking not the truth,
blind from ignorance, deaf from invention,
from the world, from those close, from myself,
trapped in hell, in cage, in illusion, in pain,
Thus do I find myself in the haunt of memories past.
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