Glorified Hermit

Entrance my heart oh silent air my thoughts allowed to zoom and sail to bounce off walls of self defeat and rain back down in liquid sheets. Like music lost in fingertips which hum and rest upon my lips but flee when passerby's arrive to catch me at my most alive. Thoughts which dwell in corner closets dark and warm until I conjure up their image in my dreams although quite wide awake I be. Mournful melody, thoughts of rhythm surging from the lonely chasm written out with shaking pencil fast as they will let me catch them. Sometimes thoughts come out in oils sometimes they speak in watercolors trees with roots running off the page or a basket of apples in brown and sage. That look you have with the sun in your eyes or the mirror of canvas in bright green skies. Then there are thoughts which will only let go when the poetry pulls them and lets them flow. Loosed they are known for sweeping statements grand and building tall stories on shifting sand. They won't blink an eye to a passerby as strangers are known to occasionally lie. They fuel up the music and hand art a brush and glare at the air with an infinite "hush"! For poetry, melody, painting uninhibited is the limitless gift of the glorified hermit.