Naught's Haunt...

Rummaging for you,
I find myself in a mess;
I scour, it does accrue,
Life's munificent largess.

I pick the old toys,
But I know not to play;
I can hear the voice,

But fear it doesn't allay.

I can call the shades,
But can't paint a picture;
I can see it unmade,
But not raise the structure.

I can give it a tweak,
But cannot roll my arm;
I can certainly speak,
But it no longer has charm.

I can run a few miles,
But can't find the need to;
Strange seem the smiles,
Why do they come through?

I have my many friends,
They're the stars in my sky;
Yet, on me, it all depends,
Whether they're nigh or high.

I don't have what I need,

Though I have all I want;
I need only be freed,
And in me, naught's haunt.