I’m surrounded by possessions,
some of these say who I am.
I’m trying to cut them down a bit,
but I’m not sure if I can.
These things all have their stories,
they tell me who I was.
They speak of other owners too,
that’s such a big because.
Some bits are just like memories,
they bring a picture back.
The chair my mother later sat in,
if that went I would crack.
The books that line the bookcase,
not all of them are mine.
But the owners of these books,
are now with the divine.
That they scanned those pages,
while they were here awhile.
As I run my hand along the page,
it always makes me smile.
The china from my childhood,
which I ate from when sick.
Remind me of that love I felt,
which got me better quick.
All these things are talking now,
reminding me of days.
Memories of the hills I’ve climbed,
and those that went away.
So possessions are just pointless,
and what’s important is inside.
But these memories are so precious,
they’re so much more than tried.
My mother shared a rule with me,
to keep beautiful things around.
The trouble is I followed her word,
it’s a treasure trove I’ve found.
Now the time has come for me to move,
I now need to pack it away.
But packing up these things that talk,
is like packing my life away!