After all that time
There is a sense of triteness in the air,

With no care for observation
Beyond the norm;

No desire for dreams to storm
Sombre sleep. No consolation

Needed for inaction,
No satisfaction sought because

None desired, beyond the satisfactory.
No temptation tried or if tasted

No tainted with trying
Beyond the trite.

After all that time
There is a sense of death in the air.