Children picking through a trash heapA bargain

I have lived in a materialist’s paradise
everything I could want
most of which I’ve had.
Surrounded by belongings
encircled in manufacturing
a healthy glow
of grabby hands
and a clinging mind
raised to want.

With each move
the number of belongings shrank
some broken
some trashed
some donated
some sold
some gifted
some smashed against a wall in a drunken fury.

At this time of night
with the house quiet
and everything still
I pace
and think of everything lost
and everything I miss
and I see people
that will never be seen again
and it ends in tears
and empty drifting.

Many more belongings than people
or experiences
have been lost
but they never arise as I pace,
so why spend one moment
worrying about possessions
the rest of the time?

-6/20/2015

More poetry

Advertisements