Hermit


			I yearn for closeness,
			But instead,
			Sit here alone.
			I lie in the dark
			And search for any meanings -
			All elude me.

			I stand on this hill,
			The wind swirling and buffeting around me -
			I think,
			Search,
			Yearn...
			I sit from a soul deep weariness,
			And begin to weep.


© R. A. W. S. Clarke

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