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I’m surrounded by the exhibits of my tiny life
The things that make me, me.
They reassure, comfort and offer strength,
Their loss a cutting knife.
To you they may be useless, dusty old and frayed,
Things from pointless pasts,
Fragments of unimportant lives, unnecessary,
Debris of my life’s twisting road.
They tell of all I’ve known and thought and done.
Important people yesterday,
Places where life was strong, excitement, fear,
Or brief success that’s gone.
I can taste salt on that rock & feel the cutting wind.
Each time I touch the little jug,
I can see the friend who gave and hear their voice,
And feel the touching hand.
Our house was built in a fleeting span of time.
But the museum where I stay,
Has taken all my life to craft, yet still I add more flotsam,
To keep alive the flame .
(Revised 31/12/2010)
4 comments:
I live in a modern house - but I still know the some of the feeling.
So many things which I sometimes look at and think and wonder if I should still keep things I have brought with me from house to house (mostly since I left the farm at 18 but a few even older).
But then I realise that I don't want to part with them. They might never be used, but I know they are there and when I see them the memories follow close behind.
I cannot bear to watch programmes like House Doctor, or whatever it is, where they strip away items from peoples lives. I either want to cry or shout in rage at what they are doing.
I agree, these are the things that make it home rather than just somewhere to sleep.
These comments carry more poignancy for me than I can express at the moment. We wrestle with letting go of a lifestyle we have known for over thirty years and do not know how far -reaching that will be
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