Look if you really must,
Upon the shelf gathering dust.
Stacked up high one by one,
Are what's left of times long done.
Hey, about the wear I DO care,
i know things of beauty are still there.
i must organise i must put in order,
i must do but i’ve done neither,
To all of them or to any one thing,
Like the once-glowing golden ring,
Or the myriad voices of circles that sing,
Or the books with pages that do bring,
Memories of old and pesky eyes that sting.
So time to clean up your act you fuck,
Before all that dust goes and turns to muck
Get that vacuum and let it suck suck suck
It was THEN that I said “Oh Fuck!”
Because it was then I saw…
It was because of dust inside
That eyes did sting and made me blind,
To all those things I had to find,
Like the bulb and teddy and the pen and paper,
And the knife I saved from that dusty vapour.
You see the dust that clouded my eyes,
Was one of sorrow, anger and despise.
Without all that to cloud my eyes,
There were things of beauty I realise.
The shelf is also beautiful I realise.
Again I will never leave my shelf to that dust,
Blind me again never it must,
My lovely shelf I will again trust,
As safe for what matters, and never to be lost.
~Dili
