Discarded

[Lincolnshirelass]

(with thanks to RevyrexQuestorReyes who suggested I tried a Terza Rima)

The Hospice Shop. All's sold for a good cause,
and all's been loved (or maybe not) before,
The tattered tantalises, and I pause,

But know full well that I'll pass through that door,
and search through the eclectic, shabby, strange,
with a notion that they long for love once more ...

These things discarded, or, once cherished range
from the abandoned artefacts that we have read about
that auction for untold wealth, banal lives change

To the unwanted, outgrown and thrown out,
and books, ah, books, some unread almost new,
others once cherished, once dear friends, no doubt,

And ornaments, and things that people drew,
pretty or kitschy, elegant or plain,
even some plants that caring, withered hands once grew,

They deserve to live and be loved once again,
as all things seek a new, second-hand chance
not just to gather dust and to remain

The prisoners of shelves and circumstance,
Now they depress. Some time they may enhance.

[DATo]

I really like the theme you present in this poem and I have had similar feelings to the ones you describe in the presentation. Quite close to where I live is an enormous antique mall where people can rent booths and sell a lot of things on consignment. It would take fully several hours to tour the entire mall ("mall" = enormous building).

I have often wondered as I looked at the old items what the people who owned them were like and the context of the item's ownership. Very old wedding dresses and other period clothing, an antique rifle with Indian beading attached to it, very old toys and tools, extremely old photographs are just some of the things I have seen there and even as I gazed upon them I knew that each of these items, however quaint, had a story to tell.

I think you captured the essence of my experiences at this mall as precisely as if you had read my mind.

Very nice job!

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