The Hermit sits in his four-walled prison
  
He is ever alone but not by choice
 
Abandoned and betrayed, cold and bitter he sits alone
 
He dreamt he had friends once in a far off land
 
But they are too far and perhaps they never existed
 
Except in a momentary dream of a short vacation
 
Everyday is the same, every moment like the last
 
No one touches. no one hugs, no lover to kiss
 
He hears people say life is too short
 
But for him life is never short enough
 
He lays in bed and dreams of a life that will never be
 
A life not filled with alone but full of we