Why I'm a Hermit (Poem)

(For an article that expands on the hermit subject, click here)

(Inspired theme)

Before attaining philosopher-hood,

I have sympathized with the antagonists of fiction,

Those who had the ability to alter the course of the world,

And thus were a force to be reckoned with,

By those who dare to oppose them,

And beat them, due to cliché.

One day I came to my former master

And told him of my desire to change the world,

As it is too wrong, too dysfunctional,

Too disgusting.

In response I was given the thesis of Epictetus:

That there are things within our control -- and beyond,

And thus -- the latter are not of our concern.

In short, reality has taught me that I cannot change the world,

For its force far exceeds mine,

So I am to either sit, and endure,

Or disappear, completely or strongly.

I cannot change the world,

And not even a certain girl's heart,

Whom once I knew,

So what is the point, then, in fighting

A battle where the odds are against you?

In reality, there are no minions, no superpowers,

Rarely any ultra-rich with private armies,

Nor doomsday devices,

At the disposal of the realistic antagonist,

AKA, he or she who initiates change.

All you have is some money, a computer

And maybe an apartment to live and sleep in.

Only rarely,

You get a powerbase,

Beyond the basically.

As the conqueror inside me is disappointed,

When facing the burden of reality,

Philosocom will be my base of operations,

My "evil lair",

Where all I can do,

Is to provide my thoughts,

Those who are influenced are them,

Are beyond my control as well.

This isn't defeatism,

This is maturity.

And as long as I don't have an army of minions and maybe a nuclear device,

(So-to-speak, metaphorically of course)

I want to remain in hermitage,

For the mature one does not fight a war

He/she is surely to lose in.

I had a fleet of airships once,

Hundreds by the number,

But they were all be put out of commission,

By the sharp darts of trollish laughter.

I had enough of being hurt

Even simply, for expressing,

The fact that I exist,

So I become a hermit,

And thus in that way I might consist.

Maybe, just maybe,

If I had more control,

Over myself, over the received influence from others,

Over the alternation of communication with others,

I wouldn't be such a hermit,

Who is just waiting for his elder years to come,

And perhaps write a few philosophical articles,

Throughout the silent, desolate way.

Thus, if you want to avoid hermit-dom,

Seize control,

By social skills, by attraction, connections, and by luxury,

All of which I might not have,

And (might as well) never will,

For all I want now, if not permanently,

Is to have a bit of serenity.

Those who have the formers,

Should welcome the burden of

Stress, worry and anxiety,

Just to sense a bit of power,

That is beyond their own property.

(2023 Added Verses):

But now I realized,

That a hermit's worth is compromised,

Because as long as he will be deemed unimportant,

His legacy to humanity can be undermined as well.

So, in order to avoid that biased fate,

I have no choice but to bury my hermit-dom with hate.

Being irrelevant, is a thought I carried with much distaste.

With my increasing fame,

My former love have faced the truth.

For she has paid,

For saying that "I'm just too irrelevant",

Apathetically, she declared.

No empathy, no remorse,

Now, I just have,

To suffer life and work,

Suffer, and stay on course.

Now I am asthmatic,

It is far from fantastic.

To my craft, I am a fanatic,

Stress and repression were its trigger,

All I am left is to build an empire,

And grow it bigger.

For taking away my future,

My happiness, so I could survive,

Those who appointed themselves my repressors,

Will pay,

By my ability, to thrive.

By my success they will be left,

Proven wrong,

With their past locked away,

And in vengeance,

Kept.