Stuff, forgotten

Why is it that each time I try to look

For something specific in a nook

Of my home that seems to have cavernous space

I never find what I need, but in its place

I find a smattering of things that forgotten lie

Tools, trinkets, jewelry, pretty much anything under the sky

I am overjoyed at times, at other times dismayed

Because for a duplicate of something, hard-earned cash I’ve paid

Then I shake my head and marvel at all the stuff

That I keep buying, and yet it never seems enough

For my greatest first world problem I need

More self-control to rein in my greed

The money I spend languishes in objects of little use

Instead, spending my money on experiences I should choose

*

The ability to buy what I want is a privilege, of course

But I cannot keep track of my possessions, I am forced

To spend precious time and energy on trying to find

My things, it adds to the clutter in my mind…

*

For now, let me just try to enjoy my treasure

Finding beautiful old stuff has given me pleasure