Gatherers

we gather possessions

and trinkets

we clutch them

tightly to ourselves

as if in a vain effort

to stave off finality

a life jackets of vain wishes

and banal baubles

that we inanely attempt

to blow life into

"i can't die yet

i still have a brand new

breadville toaster oven"

the measure of reverence

afforded to each object

is varied in accordance

with the outrageous price paid

and rarity amongst our peers

all we are doing

is collecting useless things

things that will catch dust

until we die

and then our children

will argue and bicker over them

and thus creating

their own intergenerational family rifts

this is nothing more

than a training module

and by the time you are even close

to anything resembling

mastery of this mystery

our frames wither and fail

until all thats remains

is a wrinkled husk

held together

by past the use by date dreams,

generic pills,

and granny nappies

See Also:

nose hair and that other thing...