All Hills Must Erode

All my possessions, should they be unwanted by you

Should be scattered to the wind, with my ashes too

For when I am done, my body and my things

Are nothing but a collection, that is in need of wings


There is no place, for such a gathering of stuff

But we never get rid, of quite enough

We hold it, possess it, and love it as well

But after we’re gone, it’s time to sell


Stripped of the emotions, the memories too

It becomes a clock, a decoration, for somebody new

Who will use it and cherish it, until they too,

Have completed their cycle, and are also through


Not to spurn spouses, or relatives who have memories,

There is always plenty more, of things not of these

A little reminder, of a person or an event

A bit of recollection, unrelated to time spent


But all the rest, I would toss into the air

Hopefully finding, a new possessor out there

Who is gathering and stacking, his mountain of thrills

Who someday will also, have to erode his hills.


Barbara Blackcinder


About Barbara Blackcinder

I am a poet/writer with a need for words. There are so many out there that I haven't used yet. They define all reality and mine when you read those from me.
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