trinkets

It is odd

how quickly

we get bored

with toys

that do not seem

to shine as they

once did.

And it is odd,

I think,

that still we run,

so often,

after those

shimmering

tea cups

of silver memories

and golden coins

when we know

that in the end

we need to sip

tea only

from earthen cups.

And I would end

my thoughts now

if I could

and if I were a better writer,

wiser,

more patient

but just as we run

after those shining eyes

of jade I must smear

the beauty of simplicity

with the vulgarity

of ornamentation

with words

that I would never

utter in the real world.

I digress.

But I still wonder

why we don’t sit

still

and breathe

and hold on

to that which gives us happiness

instead of buying our love

and why we exchange

our love for shimmering

trinkets that we will throw

away at a whim.

And also,

can you tell me,

why some of these trinkets,

that never shone that bright,

are more precious

than anything else in the world?

Ah, me, ah, my

sighs vanish into the air

and come back

as unwelcome guests

in the middle of nights

when the snow makes it impossible

for me to let them in.