The Lonely Hermit Poem by Edwina Reizer
The Lonely Hermit
Withdrawn and sullen
he lay in his bed.
He resented the fact
that he was not dead.
Nothing to hope for,
nothing to crave.
Why was he in bed
and not in a grave?
The world he knew
was not there anymore.
He looked at the walls.
He looked towards the door.
The door was closed.
He knew for sure
that whoever found him
as he lay in his bed,
would probably say
“He’s better off dead.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 2:45:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
