All these people like walking shadows
leaving no mark on the corridors
or in the rooms, just passing through
like faded ghosts of real lives.
There will be no songs about them
no legends retold around winter fires
telling of their superhuman heroism
against a monster filing cabinet
or an ogre of a hard disk
or even the weary accountant
wending his tired way home
to a weary waiting wife.
[Please note: as with all the pieces marked as Fragments these poems are unfinished and abandoned early drafts.]
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