The Hermitage

by Christine Fowler

I feel the pull of a silent cry,
calling from across the river bed.
There a long-forgotten cave lies
hidden, from unseeing eyes.
Once a hermitage filled with heartfelt prayer,
now dark and empty with no-one there.
But still the godly spirit resides
and calls to me, from the other side.
The very earth that lines the floor,
speaks of what has gone before.
The abandoned ledge upon the wall,
echoes with the silent call
waiting to be filled with icon bright,
to shine out through the long, dark night.
It’s there the longing pulls at me
my feet it is, it wants to see.
An imprint of each toe and sole
to once again, make it feel whole.
To feel my knees bed in the earth
as my silent prayer, underlines its worth.
To once again a place of worship be
fulfilled by the presence of me,
to be the holy hermit there,
to continue in silent prayer
and feel the religious ecstasy.
To intercede with God above
and fill our conversation with love.
And send out prayers to save the world
to let our worries all unfurl,
so God can make right everything
and we, like angels, can grow our wings
as we climb on the highest stair,
to meet with God, in heavens, shining air.

Christine Fowler has always written a poem to process life’s major events, but only began seriously writing and performing poetry in 2019. Starting in her sixties means she came to poetry with a lot of life experience from working with people in a range of challenging situations. This is reflected in her poems, which often follow a dark theme. Since 2020, she has begun to be published in journals and anthologies both online and in print. To see more poems, visit

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