Next to Godliness

As I look around the room

I take note of the piles

and piles 

and piles 

of stuff. 

There are books and pain and anguish

over there against the wall

and towers of paper sadness 

spilling out into the hall

My eyes look past the mountains of 

clothes and loathing and guilt

and look toward camera droppings

stacked in boxes that I built.

The springed and stuffed table, 

with its pillows and memories and shame

is stacked up to the ceiling

with things I cannot name. 

My treasures lie amongst the mess

and sometimes I can glance

the kind of person I could be

if I but take the chance. 

I seize a sack, in hand and mind,

and--Seeing that I can 

release the obligation--

change "I Was," to who I Am.

As the hours tick by slowly

I clear the dross and broken dreams

and also trinkets, and I realize

that my space is--finally--clean.