Books: Rare, Medium, and Well Done
finding buried treasures
without using a shovel
a pile before me stands
discarded cast off relics
the dreams of yesterday
set aside to wait again
collecting on shelves
spilling over to the floor
the store sits sweltering
an oven in the summer
unseen by passers by
itself seemingly forgotten
onward into the furnace
chance the select few
called by the voices
of the forgotten dreams
whispers calling them
beacons in the darkness
drawing those who seek
until at last "eureka!"
Okay, last two lines...I heard in my head:
ReplyDeletedrawing those who seek 'em
until at last "eureka!"
...as if they almost "nearly missed" rhyming...at least in the sense of syllabification
I don't follow all of it, but I feel the whispered shadow of it all. The imagery twirls about like the dust from the shelves that you blew and saw in the sunbeams of light.
I'm picturing the pile is found but not seen because they are stored inside YOU. (I love the idea of the noun, "the physical store" coupled with the shelves; then subtly using "the store [of items]" instead).
The wheat and the chaff being separated and dealt with...The final stanza is simply incredible