Existential Satisfaction

We are picky in the pink of propinquity
And we like to be able to feel respected
If not quite accepted at least not rejected
The closest we let respect get to you and me

Self-banished by blandishment for a blandish while
To the indifference of anonymity
With its enigmatic subcutaneous smile
Its grin beneath our skin our bone beneath its stone

We dream our days invisible but side by side
We fret ourselves about who lives about who died
And those who did (oh God forbid) were all alone
Leave hope behind who enter here: be satisfied

+Steven Curtis Lance



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