Things

My home is full of the things I have.

At first the freedom to increase them
seemed to be the answer to my problems.
I got everything I wanted and more.

I have been waiting for a peaceful heart.
However, my life is owned by my possessions.

How do I explain my sorrow?
I don’t understand, but I cannot step away.
Every time I turn, I have a new duty.
I thought I would finally be free.

W. Wayne B.
Kindle poetry chapbook: Journey Through a Garden

Follow me on Twitter: @williamwayneb

About William Wayne Smith

I'm a poet, library fan and maker.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged duty, free, possessions, sorrow, things. Bookmark the permalink.

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