The Underlying Object
Dust off the antiques that time has past over
Again the four leaf and unlucky clover
Was bound to be found again, as luck would have
A gent walked in and no price was halve
Valuable enough twice again
To cause the pause for him to think it wrong
He would have it, have it, not very long as
Fate herself could not have seen, for his mirth
And glee didn't take guess at the objects worth,
The old man off to cackle, free to sin.
Walking out the shop he stopped to ponder
Who were they? They were not all that much fonder
Yet growing older he gasped air through straws
And this was the last, he smashed with broken claws,
This antiques beauty he prayed not to seek
Why in God's name? He screamed as he looked in,
Spiraling spiritually down and then,
It was the last moment, he saw master,
God, lightning, the devil was for him faster
He saw the underlying object, weak.
The object sits quietly now, in another store collecting dust,
A tepid conclusion, but quietly reflecting in ancient rust.
Copyright ©
Tim B | Year Posted 2011
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