You suppose this to be about Josts?
Well, you are partially correct
in that the long dead plays
parts upon my sphere, but not
of the living.

The death of something far greater
than squashy flesh and bone!

The light of ones soul,
of dreams and hopes extinguished
by time, by lovers,
by money, by life,
lofty goals of betterment torn asunder
leaving husks and hollows
on autopilot,
shuffling between moments,
heads down
awaiting a formless end.