Collector

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I collect,
I’m unsure why.
They are only things
That one day die.

On the shelves
There are many books-
Words bound by thought
Bound by idea
Bound by thread and glue.

In my mind
There are many ideas-
Some I’ve heard,
Others synthesized.
It is difficult
To arrive at originality
Although I try and I must.

In my mind
There are many memories-
Some are clear
Like old film
Playing through a projector.
Others are fading
In the light of time
And some rolls have gone blank.

Around my eyes
There are many lines-
Wrinkles in my fabric
And it was once ironed so well.
But, wear it long enough
And it shows.
Time will tell.