The Hardness In A Hoarder’s Life
The horror of the hoarder’s life
Intrigues and then dismays –
The priorities all twisted up,
As stuff becomes their days.
Like ships that overloaded sink,
Beneath a stormy wave,
The house of hoarders falls apart
Because of what they crave.
They buy too much; take things for free;
They are the ad man’s dream.
They hear the spiel, are first to phone,
“No” never in their scheme.
So things pile up they never use
In fact, they cannot reach
How does one use a grain of sand
At bottom of the beach?
And hoarders don’t know where to start
To straighten up the mess
What’s one day’s work of cleaning up
When infinite, one less?
A hoarder tends to be a slob,
The last of pride erased.
What’s one more cup or paper plate
Midst mountains where they’re placed?
The hoarder’s things keep getting lost –
Where did I put my keys?
It’s easier to find one drop
Of water in the seas.
And in the hoarder’s precious trove
Of bells, and whistles, rings,
People are in last place to
A million worthless things
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.