Hermit

The floorboards gave a heavy groan, the silence felt like lead, For Silas, faithful Silas, was quite definitely dead. He lay beside the silver tray, the teapot growing cold, The only friend I’d spoken to in fifty years, all told. I poked him with my walking stick; he didn’t make a sound, Just stared up at the ceiling beams from there upon the ground. He’d bought my bread and sharpened quills and swept the dusty floor, While I remained a prisoner behind the heavy door. I looked into the mirror at a ghost of silver hair, With skin as pale as parchment and a frantic, hollow stare. "I cannot stay," I whispered to the shadows in the hall, "For who will bring the kindling or the water if I fall?" I reached a hand, all trembling, toward the iron latch, My heart was drumming like a bird that’s met a tabby’s snatch. The hinges shrieked a rusted song, a protest at the light, As fifty years of safety vanished quickly from my sight. The sun was like a hammer blow, a golden, heavy weight, It blinded me and burned my eyes beside the garden gate. The air was not the stagnant scent of lavender and dust, But smelled of green and growing things, of rain and damp and rust. The trees had grown like giants since I saw them as a lad, They reached for me with leafy arms, and oh, it made me mad! "You’ve grown too tall!" I shouted at an oak tree by the path, It didn’t seem to care at all or fear my hermit’s wrath. I stumbled down the overgrown and winding gravel track, With every step a quiet voice was screaming, "Go on back!" But hunger is a master that a man cannot ignore, And so I marched toward the town I hadn't seen before. But where were all the horses? And where was all the hay? The world had turned to polished steel while I had been away. Great metal beasts with glowing eyes went rushing through the street, Without a hoof or bridle, and they moved on rubber feet. People walked with glowing glass pressed tight against their ears, I felt the sudden heavy salt of fifty years of tears. They wore such strange and shiny clothes, they moved with such a pace, While I stood like a gargoyle with a bewildered, ancient face. I found a shop with sliding doors that opened on their own, (I nearly fainted in the dirt and let out such a groan). Inside were rows of magic boxes, colors bright and loud, I felt like I was floating on a strange and neon cloud. I found a loaf of crusty bread and clutched it to my chest, The clerk looked at my tattered robes as if I were a guest From some forgotten century, or maybe from the moon, He asked me for a "card" or "tap," I felt I’d perish soon. I pulled a heavy golden coin from deep within my fold, The boy just stared and stuttered at the glitter of the gold. "I’ve nothing else," I told him, as I turned to find the way, Back to the cottage in the woods, where Silas used to stay. The walk back was a trial, but the air felt strangely sweet, The grass was soft as velvet underneath my tired feet. I reached my door and stepped inside, and locked the world away, To face the task of burying poor Silas in the clay. I’m back within my quiet walls, the kettle’s on the flame, The world outside is marvelous, but nothing is the same. I’ll miss my faithful servant, and I’ll miss his quiet tread, But now I know the sun still shines, though Silas might be dead.