Scott Wesley Brown has a poem I like. It is called Things.
Things on the mantle,
Things on every shelf,
Things that others gave me,
Things I gave myself,
Things I've stored in boxes That don't mean much anymore,
Old magazines and memories Behind the attic door,
Things on hooks and hangers,
Things on ropes and rings,
Things I have that blind me
To the pettiness of things.
For discarded in the junkyard
And rusting in the rain
Are the things that took
The finest years of a lifetime to obtain.
And whistling through the tombstones
The hollow breezes sing
A song of dreams surrendered
To the tyranny of things.
Wow!
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