Antique

I collect old things,

For there is something about holding items

That have lived far more than I.

Books barely refraining from blowing into dust

To swirl in the air with the dinosaurs

Wood so ingrained with history of conversations

They echo voices in my room

Emotions embedded in figurines of ceramic

Cracks in enamel like topography

Boxes that once house diamonds and pearls

Their impressions left in velvet linings

The jewels themselves reflect ghosts of the past

Faces shining in every facet

Because all of these items are haunted in their own way

Their lives as much a story as their owners

They have, by being, encouraged

Love, friendship, and all forms of passion

To arguments, hatred, and crime

They have stood as silent witnesses

And they take their secrets to their inevitable end.