The Recluse.


I regard fellow-man with a frigid calm, 

Most times I prefer to avoid eye contact and hope they walk past,

Maybe that is my loss, I might let a gem slip,

Most turn out to be gall and wormwood anyways, 

Irritating the living lights out of your soul,

I regard them closely through a frosty pane,

Don’t let them too close for they dive right into your soul,

Right into your garden of old, so carefully nurtured and calm,

Then without pause,they start to plant,

and you think,

huh,

not bad, 

But halfway you find out they are toxic,

At the first wind of pain, they blow away,

All they do is pour grime over your garden of old, and laugh as they watch it die,

They pollute this holy space of peace and instead of oozing life,

secretions of rage, fear and blackness come forth,

It’s no cinch to uproot weeds once they override a flower,

They will find you vintage, but leave you sour,

They tell me I am irrationally paranoid, that I can’t satisfactorily vet,

That at the end I will relent and accept that man will be man,

But that is the thing, If man will be man,

Then my palinoia paranoia is rationally justified.

promises.jpg

 

Gall and Wormwood (Extremely disagreeable and annoying.)

Palinoia ((n) Compulsive repetition of an act until it is performed perfectly.)

Photo Challenge #153 – Image from reylia.deviantart.com

Wordle #143 “February 20th, 2017”

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14 thoughts on “The Recluse.

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