He walks through his life like a shadow,
A vague form with no substance,
His presence necessary, but unremarkable.
He performs all the rituals and fulfills all the obligations,
A picture of contentment,
Neatly drawn, but colorless.
He clings to the vestiges of what once was,
Renews acquaintance with the comfortable past,
Walking steadily towards an uneventful future.
He fills the holes in his soul
With bland and unseasoned matter;
It keeps him alive, but ever hungry.

©1998 Gail Von Schlichting


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