Poem: Hermit – 09/02/20

I mainly live the life of a hermit,
Holed up inside my room,
Detailing my introspection.
 
There is nothing more to do
But search for that
Which has been foretold.
 
Nothing left to pursue
Ulterior motives slippery like buttery fingers of shortbread
In the cooling oven air.
 
I am once again exhausted
How did I become this way
I barely move, only lifting my fingers.
 
But surrounding me are things which
Drain me of my energy
I do not know why, but sinister, they are there.
 
I exorcise my words
Feeling the aching muscles despite napping
For hours prior
 
And my mind is heavy
A quagmire, legs sunken and trapped
In the sickening pit of gloom.
 
I reigned triumphant before over this
With an ability of light-hearted joyous effervescence
A surprise to those who had encountered me
 
The exhaustion is overwhelming,
It envelopes my body like a massive yawning.
 
I call upon the wind to gust alongside me
To rinse me of my ailment
This unknown sorcery which plunged me into pain and darkness
 
Though, the pain has gone,
Only returning is infantile irritation
I’ll absorb the shock of it
 
I stare into the mirror;
A broken reflection,
There’s nothing more to it.   

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

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