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I'm a small pebble
making a giant ripple
A speck of black sand
on a coral white beach
The left foot
kicking up a storm

A hermit, a drifter
a paradigm shifter
I am a disruptive
not a destructive force
I think outside of the box because inside I'm lost

I've been Nero, DaVinci
Neruda, Dali
burned as a witch
and now I'm just me....
a small pebble
making a giant ripple
Poem written for a blow-torch painting I did earlier this year.
Jabin Jun 2018
The love I hold, tempered by my anger.
I see so much, and yet I cannot take.
Ears they burst from never ending clangor.
The smile I show is oh so very fake.

The care I clench forced me as a hermit.
Buried within this pristine outer shell.
Hatred abound, and the news confirm it.
Would not show my face till the devil fell.

For wishing someone would come to save me,
I love the world. Alas, I hate myself.
The world outside seems to be so crazy.
That’s why I leave the Bible on the shelf.

Oh, God! Oh, God! I pray for your guidance.
But I’ve become cozy with your silence.
Moonbeam May 2018
This time I'm going to do the hermit thing right
Inner-work and self-love from morning to night  
Awareness of all my woes and insecurities  
Connecting with universal flows and obscurities
Going into my depths, no human interference
Focusing on my soul, not my appearance
Transmuting all my deep pain into sweet pleasure
While turning these dark coals into beautiful treasure
This focus and expansion is serving me well
Returning to my inner heaven, away from this hell
Tom Mar 2018
hauled up with a cavernous protector
far away from the dawn light
loss of distinction, morn and night
departed from those you love

casting a thought
to before you were a passenger
laid bare in this damp shelter
waiting for the walls to cave in

the days you took pleasure
in the meaningless endeavour
of the artificial existence
are replaced by days

so broken by monotony
and the plight of the many
so you sook a life most solitary
where your thoughts weigh heavy

each day you think of them
their optimism and naivety
as you draft another letter
destined for nowhere

as years take their toll
and the days feel like weeks
and your joints ache with growing ferver
you draft another letter
The hermit in this little tale is tired of the structure of everyday life, and has escaped to a place where he can live on his own terms.
Sombro Jun 2017
And to you, the hermit
I give the world
Such is your domain
And your quality
If God were ever to give travellers one thing
Gabriel burnS Apr 2017
Cooking beneath the shell
The meat of my thoughts
Like a hermit crab
The boiling of my dreams
Escaping as high-pressure steam
Through tiny fissures
In dye-shifting armor

I never opened up
I never bent or broke
and never cracked
But now is never
All I have, I’m giving back

Plug your ears
To the deafening screams
That no amount of heating
Can make edible
You are the hardness of my shell
Omnipresent and Incredible
I wanted to post this earlier, at the time of writing but I guess it had to ferment a bit.
Liam C Calhoun Nov 2016
Cold when covers for
Others and anger come a
Door closed; vitriol.
ryn Aug 2016
I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I gather...
I analyse...
I stow away all that I've learnt.

Because when the wind would blow
and the earth wouldn't understand.
When the world would tremble,
shaken by man's ruthless hand.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I listen...
I keep...
I stockpile in the shadows.

Because in my blood exists grudge...
And my bones, weary from despair.
My skin screams exhaustion
and my body feigns to care.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I overthink...
I hide...
I hoard all my thoughts.*

Because the walls have ears
and these pages bear eyes.
What my heart truly knows...
Is that your mouth tells only lies.
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