For Hershel

We all have jobs to do.

Being on the run
for too long
plays tricks on the mind.
Dull gray walls
rusted metal bars
and leaning fences
transform safety into comfort
under the guise of life.

Too little growth
leads to stagnation,
a coffin for the soul.
Complacent
and accepting,
desires disappear
and trifles turn trivial.

We were too far gone.

Now, so are you.
We’ll mourn
in the morning.

We all have jobs to do.

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