Sunday, May 16, 2010

901. THE HERMIT

THE HERMIT
Why was I holding the moon in my hands,
and who was it said so? No more frozen
ground than this was there - iced intellect
and hardened emotion. I spoke, and in thus
speaking to clowns I withered. With so little
to say I moved on. Eating dead bones and
manners - or, gnawing like a dog on the past -
I busied myself with great things made small,
not small things made great. Tuxedo and top hat
not, formal clothing away - the eccentric mode
took center stage. Simultaneous and direct,
together, I broadly swept the stage. 'I am one
man, yes, but all my own, and that can be enough
to make the difference work.' I turned on all the
lights and set to endeavor my hearts and wishes too.
In no such condition was I to be found : this is
why the wise man hides away. This is
why the wise man hides away.

No comments: