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.

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