Eremitism

What language infects these printed pages?
It cannot be English, for those who read them
Leave with a basic incomprehension.
The stack of music I've composed:
What tonality? Those who've heard it
Sink into blank expressionless funks,
For neither noise nor tunefulness
Has moved them to criticize or praise.
Those novels yonder, stories too:
So cryptic that they could only be
The products of alien civilizations
Millennia dead and inaccessible?
Eremitism, my strongest virtue:
With paper pillars I build my temples,
Invisible, lofty, surpassingly gorgeous,
Wherein I kneel, I pray, I lucubrate,
I lustrate my life by the sacred breaking
Of bread and ties to humanity.