A Life of Little Import

I have wandered onto
A stage dimly lit, deserted,
Scattered with abandoned props.

I approach the coat rack,
Take the measure of
The cloth coat hanging there,
Inspect the frayed corners
Of the overstuffed chair...
Signs of alien life, unknown to me.

And yet a creeping feeling stirs,
Lurking in the musty corners
Of my unexamined memory.

This scene, this stage
Where someone spent his days—
Could it belong to me?

Could I, in fact, have lived a life
So void of self-inspection
That the articles of daily use
Awaken not the slightest recollection?

A husk I was, a shell it seems,
Caught up in my dreams
Of furtherance, of temporal ambition.

And now, I'm sent to wander through
This dreary habitation,
So that it may convey to me
The joy, the vigour that was lacking.

©2016 Michael Fraley

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