The Hermit Child

How has time eroded the magic?

Long is for joys and sighs between

For since latter there is no capturing

Elder by no means or route enrapturing

From the first glorious day

Eyes opened to as much feeling

As held within complete spirit

For longer than ten thousand days

Then the day rose as a winter trial

Holding out by nurture

The way of the world present to know

Traveling farther than a winding road

Pulling over the vails as if they were blinds

For strength he depends upon only time

Alone is he in the umbrage

Sharpening his mind as well as his knives

For sustained days not one calls his name

Not woman, man or child

Detained from a grasp as the moon in distance

Has he dug roots deep in ruin

As lonely as the sea he still shall trudge

In small matters there is slow enrichment nonetheless

All of mind and neglect of the bodily innate nest

Yet as balance deserves the will to fuse the each

Yet from what memory can he recall to teach?

And so his eternal demise to be of abandon

Forgotten in the recent lore among

The absent mindfulness of his very pride and innocence

To escape and flee again where no bane to feel

With time and his cruel marriage to its hand

He has misplaced the greatest fashion of memories

Once a fragile child that was not aware

But gave and received more love than it once could forbear

So he searches meaning in the depths of his cave

Unconsciously wishing one day to remove the pain

Just to be integrated in the norm of the world

He prevails to endure the hermit child as coil and furl