Baggage

 

We all attract stuff to our lives.

When we are small, it's toys and trinkets and things.

We want to hang on to the joy of our lives,

The memories each new day brings.

 

We hoard our most precious stuff,

And hide it away.

If our sisters and brothers don't find it,

We'll look at it again some day.

 

And if our mother didn't find it,

We really got away.

And our cherished treasures,

Were ours alone each day. 

 

Thoughts and bodily functions,

Collect along the way.

And find their little hiding places,

To store our stuff away.

 

You can have a garage sale,

To sell the junk that grows.

And keep the priceless mementos,

Whose value only friends and family knows.

 

But you cannot sell the guilt and shame,

Of a lifetime's little sins one day.

You easily forget where you left your keys,

But the memories of your transgressions never go away.

 

They're in your thoughts every day,

And in your dreams at night.

You can't put them out of mind;

You can't put them out of sight.

 

It gathers under your eyes,

And under your chin.

It hangs over your belt,

The wages of your sin.

 

Those who live long lives,

Are not burdened down.

They smile and carry light loads,

Little baggage to be found.

 

Copyright 1998 © Ronald W. Hull

 

10/4/98



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