The Collector

There once was a man who liked pretty things
He was an arrogant, charismatic, creative man
Brilliant in his own way
He would find something he admired
be it because it dazzled and shined
or it was elegant in it's simplicity
he had no specifics he just liked pretty things
He would find something he liked
research it, find out what care it needed
how it was best displayed,
how it would best reflect back to him
when first he got them
the would be placed in prominent display
shown off to the world, a light forever shining upon them
but soon enough, he would need another
newer, shinier, prettier, whatever.. a different thing
so the old ones would be pushed aside,
left on the shelf, in the dark
becoming fragile and brittle, covered in dust
He knew others coveted his things
what he didn't know was that they came in and took
the items he had neglected.
one day he found some items missing..
and he went on a rampage
storming throughout the house..
sometimes breaking the pieces that remained
never seeing the value in what he had..
finally, all his pretty things were gone
and he sat alone in his empty house
the light shining upon him...
hollow, empty, a void..
for it seems the pretty things
had become all he was
and he had lost them all

© Shauni

I know this isn't a poem really.. but i am working on it, maybe a story.. it is going to show up here periodically in different format. please bear with me