The Collector

The master strides through his curious realm,

Every step matching eons,

Every gaze spanning lifetimes,

All lined up on his shelf.

 

A collector, an inspector, a transgressor of what’s right,

The master strides –

Past dreams of Byzantine war widows,

Ancient vows displayed in gold

And an endless array of magnificent creatures

In cages, full to the brim

With things unseen and things untold.

 

He would place diamonds along a road

Of blood and tears like trinkets dropped,

Have roses grow in fear-drenched soil

To pluck them, dry them, wrap them up

In silver foil.

 

Put them on display

For only ever himself to see

For now, like always,

To eternity.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: