Thursday, February 2, 2017

Prison of Stuff


The years of accumulation
Trap me in a prison of strife
Surrounding and protecting me
From experiencing my life.

Now all the things I had once owned
Rotisserate me on a skewer;
Demanding regular upgrades
And maintenance, keeping it newer.

Electronics need updating
Wardrobe the same, plus washanddry.
As I practice for mastery
Toys take up my time nightandday.

But the biggest captor of all
Is my pet; a highly strung hound.
I sought a companion and pal
But now have a headcase profound.

Every day I'm on red alert.
Danger ambulates with megrim.
Myself, friends, family and strangers
Are jeopardized by his wild whim.

The question is, who's owning who?
Who is in charge when we go traipse?
Dog on offensive, I'm defense
I find myself plotting escapes.

Oh to be unhampered from stuff.
I think I'd do well being free
From those collected things and junk
Psychologically undoing me.

I could live without much of it
But some things are deeply ingrained.
The most painful thorn in my side
Is another sentient being.

The picture is larger than I am
My feelings must be set aside
Life is precious and so is he.
I must take my torment in stride.

Life is too short for complaining
About having too many things.
Even a man who has nothing
Is often the one who most sings.


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