I existed alone, in a little cave of nowhere, and was quite content to exactly be where I didn’t know. Gladly retiring to my castle of singularity, I sensed others, not prowling, but curious of my existence. I hid quietly, waiting for them to pass by like so many times before, but then the rustling stopped, the leaves breathlessly announcing a turn in the path leading to me. The steps crunched closer and my hiding place is revealed. I’ve discovered many places to hide, and in spite of my camouflage, there I’m found. I don’t want them to find me, I want to remain secluded, my resources won’t support their hunger and thirst. No matter how I try, they come. With desires no man can tame, they press me out of my comfort, pushing me to give a portion of myself. What is it about a man who desires no pleasure of company, that lures so many to invite themselves to just that, his company? The more I push and pull from society, the more curiosity I inspire. Can’t they just pass by and stop following me down these endless circling, rocky paths? Then only to lay on me the guilt of their choice saying, “You never looked out for us, you led us down the wrong path”. Turn back little ones, fair maidens, here in this dark cave lies great desire, desire that will fuel the pain of loss, for only when you desire much can your hopes be dashed against the longing, when all you sought disappears in the dark once again.
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“I don’t know. That’s what’s wrong. Or part of what’s wrong. I feel like I’m sleepwalking.”
― Rainbow Rowell, Attachments
I‘ll follow you there, into the dark
The dark is my lover, I caress it’s shadowy folds.
Come, join me in the midnight blackness
It soothes the brightness of truth
Thick blindness holds us tight
Our fears close but held at bay
Cold, our emotions now irrelevant
I‘ll follow you there, into the dark
Where lie my deepest fantasies
Lay down your fear my sweet woman
Take my misty promises into the wildness
Of the unknown, unfeeling, and unbelievable
Provoking them to relinquish their hidden treasure
as I follow you there, into the dark
clouds hovering, the wind teasing,
making smoke tails.
peaceful, almost entrancing,
the wind in my hair.
a falling comrade in the green forest,
all carried by the wind.
How is it I’m taken by this wind?
Like a seed carried away from my past,
This is no ordinary little house, in a dark wooded lot, with a long curving driveway. Quintessential in time, the smell of rotten leaves, moldy dead trees, and moss create an invitation likely to instill fear. Leaves and draping parasitic vines serve to block out the intrusion of light. Things crawl and slither, poisonous things with teeth naturally sharp to penetrate the hood of protection. A damp chill wraps up the weary and pulls them to the coldness of the nether world. Light mists drift low to the ground, creeping with ethereal madness. Large things, nightmares, snap twigs and disappear with startling proficiency. These all have conspired to hide escape and draw the fearful soul deeper and deeper, sliding down the viscous sides of mortality’s flowers in a one way trip. The house is ancient in design, hundreds of years ago the brick and mortar were set and stony copper gargoyles put here to observe the folly of one gone mad. The door’s misleading, it’s a lure, pulling and tugging to get it’s prey close, crushing hopes with its efficacious skill of holding fast against panicked desperation. Fists pound against it creating unheard echos and with beastly strength the spell is transferred from spirit to flesh. Vibrant greens are subdued to the gray and black of lands beyond. The colors are smudged by an errant creator attempting to dismiss this aberration. Bones of lost hope litter the exposed roots and walkways, little roads to nowhere showing tracks of the worst going in circles. This is the notorious lair of depression, many will enter, none shall escape.
‘That is the only time a man can be brave,’ his father told him.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones