Hermitage

Hermitage

It’s a far way off from anything practical,
And the paths have grown around the trail,
Not because I let them through a hermits nature,
But because I was so busy moving down this road,
That the idea of tending the trail seemed
Superfluous.

In the end I am glad, for the home I have started
Building, is far away, removed, and different.
I use the same materials as them, and for these
Teachings I am obliged to give thanks to
The strained shoulders of the giants
Upon which I stand.

Am I lazy to wish to break from this work of
Building, constantly building, and just sit here
To enjoy the spectacle of my own labour?
Some times it feels as if I should be moving,
Maybe I didn’t go far enough, maybe this was not
The place to build at all.

Though the work has begun, and forgive me, myself,
For sitting and watching the masonry settle,
For letting the saws cool down, for letting the
Machine be oiled.

It sounds fair, but I question the oil, and the intent
That it coats on these cogs – the reasons behind
Nonchalance, and the excuses for sitting.

All work and no play will drive this soul into
A depression, a great hollow, a deepening hole,
Filled with past acts that justify its own existence.

Would it have been better to have cleared the path before
Setting to the stone, to allow for more says, to
Invite those careful eyes that have already made
So much more progress than that which I now
Sit here, observing, contemplating, mentally jumping
To see in a clearer light.


PrioriThought 2009