Poem: The Things That Sing

The Things That Sing

You have spent way too many hours in places like this.
Antique shops, often in the most of out of the way places,
old things lost or discarded, no longer wanted,
or sold for a smidgen of case, needed worse,
a museum of mysterious lives, all for sale.

You need for nothing. You have spent your own lifetime
of collecting and releasing old things.
But still you come to these places like a pilgrimage,
looking for wonder and beauty and the jolt
of the unique and magical, the things that sing

to a soul that lives in the quiet places.

About this poem

I love antique shops. They are like a museum of strangers’ lives, all from a different time and place.

Like the poem says, some things, some people sing to you, their energy connecting with yours. It is a jolt when you find them and when you do, you keep them.

I am a serious introvert.

From those things, this poem. The picture was taken at an antique shop on the market square in Roanoke, Virginia.


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