Things

 

There are objects all around me.
A roll of thread.
A green glass bottle.
A dormant pine cone.
There are things everywhere I look,
scattered all around my home.
Leather bound books.
Paperback books.
A lifetime worth of books.
Dusty, damaged,
well worn,
ravaged,
by these hands of mine.

Two mirrors on opposite walls,
a ball of garden twine.
Two blue weights.
A chest of drawers,
of rich dark pine.
Many pens
which often fall,
onto the floor,
ball points, fountains.
A5 notebooks,
paper mountains,
shifting over time.

Two cups in my reach,
each stained by tea,
one empty.
One larger, half full.
Lemon and ginger vapours,
fragrant, flee,
circulate and linger,
carried by the steam.

Batteries.
Remote controls,
for radio & the TV,
which shape my dreams,
with shiny fables.
Cables run along the skirting,
behind a well used coffee table.
Candles, wallet, nicotine,
cover it's surface.
Earphones
and some old CD's.
A passport, Watch.

Behind it countless things,
forgot,
and small enough to fall away,
from sight and mind,
until the day,
I rearrange the things around me,
or expire,
or break free.
From what I own,
and what owns me.

~MStJ