DecPoWriMo 30

The pile of belongings 
At the old house where I used to live
Seem only to have grown in size
Since last I made their acquaintance

Perhaps out of sheer boredom
Or the inevitable fact of disuse
Having sat here for so long
Collecting dust among other cells

It is not enough to say
I am not the person I was
When first I obtained these objects
Even the person I was

Is no longer the person I used to be
Having obviously moved on by now
Since even they no longer skim
Through at least some of these pages

Why then is it so difficult
To resist the adolescent urge
To gather them all up in my arms
Or neatly stacked in portable boxes

And bring them with me wherever I go
Since that is already where they are
Better to leave them here to continue
Their independent development

Without me hanging around