Wandering Amid Myself

I'm wanting a spark, a zing of life. The vibrant piece, light, levity, a-musement, the spirit that lifts my soul seems to be far from my touch. There should be something there, within my soul, my being, where now echoing chasms haunt me with the sound of only my own words, falling hollow upon hallowed ground.

Why do I, a man who has all he needs and much that he wants, find myself longing so? It has been this way for days, perhaps a lifetime.