Stuff (a poem)

A precariously balanced stack of stones sits beside a small creek in the woods.

So many things that eat my time,
yet again I’m at the store.
I haven’t time to use them all,
I think as I buy more.

These things are mine, or so it seems.
At least I paid the fee.
Now as I look at all I own,
I see it’s owning me.

A simple life would have its perks,
but can I just let go,
of all these things that I have bought,
to read, to watch, or show?

I place on shelves for all to see,
collections I have made.
With stories behind each of them,
of what I chose to trade.

Today I vow to spend my life,
pursuing something more,
than simply just another thing
that I bought from the store.

 



~ elr

 




Image: ID 204114270 © Cyril | Fotolia

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