This is a poem reflecting on life through the collection and the ultimate giving of possessions. I was inspired by a conversation I had with my uncle, who is a very devout priest, about how the things that he had collected simply become garbage if the family does not want it. Maybe he came to this by seeing all the people come and go in his life – and the disposal of their belongings. It really reminded me of how life is truly simple at the core to give back and not be controlled by what you own. A simple idea and a poem to go with it. Cheers.
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A holy man has spent his years praying
Years
Walking through narrow wooden halls
Lit with dim lamps
When night would fall
Sitting silent on a quiet lake
He would speak so softly
As to not make a mistake
Years passed
His health began to wane
One could never tell
He never spoke much of pain
His years of prayer and solitude
Subtle vintage soul
Quiet demeanor and gentle attitude
–
“Is there any worth to this”
He asked me
Once we pass
Is there any meaning left
The colored lamp, wooden clock
Passed from hands to hands
Through generations tenderly walk
Falling down the mountain
Back to life
Formed from reincarnation
The giving fountain
Eyes passing
Looking
Watching
Take what is left
When the date has passed
When the soul departs
Small trinkets left
–
I learned much from his quiet soul
His tepid walk
Gentle flow
Upon others shoulders
Leave what you collect
From the field
There is no reason to save
Gands these items we collect down
It becomes a pile of forgotten
The trash man will collect it and move on
Drive away in the early dawn
–
Clocks and lamps
Collect new meanings
When new eyes see
A new branch is born
Upon the tree
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