Poem: On the Fine Art of Collecting in Aid of Mental Stability #NaPoWriMo

Some of us get lost in details.
Minutiae absorb our minds.

I could never,
perhaps because I never wanted to,
find myself so lost in statistics,
dates, patterns, smells, and materials.
I never really cared who signed what and when
or what colours were used in any particular year.
I didn’t have the focus.
Anyone who ever tried to teach me
complained that my mind wandered off,
and I could not be present.

So, I envy the others who are so lost
in learning and remembering exactly
what shades of blue were in use in 1872.
They seem so untroubled as they delight
over the 1919 edition they found on Ebay for
only $35, less than dinner at a mediocre restaurant.

They get such pleasure from harmless hobbies,
while I stay shackled in the torture room,
collecting nothing but my own thoughts
of eternal suffering presaged by infinite dread.

Photo by Kelly Lacy on Pexels.com

2 thoughts on “Poem: On the Fine Art of Collecting in Aid of Mental Stability #NaPoWriMo

  1. nicolahulmeblog 06/04/2020 / 11:17 am

    Hitting the like button whilst you are “shackled in your own torture room” seems wrong, but your poetry is beautiful and “like” is all that is available. I am so glad minutiae doesn’t appeal to you or we would not have the elegant lines that you write. However, you could argue, that you have more acute observation than the rest but thankfully on an emotional and empathetic level. Whichever it is – I appreciate it. Please keep on. I hope you find the key to the torture room soon.

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