So much, oh so much
Sits here on the shelf
Mainly gathering dust now

We gathered so much
For we were earning so much
Neither driving nor drinking

Let us buy music we thought
Not only does it move the heart
But is still around in the morning

Uninvited years now come and gone
Leave no one left to blame for that
Least of all all this clogging dust

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on July 8, 2018, in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 23 Comments.

  1. Music stays with us. So true. My best to you guys, Ben. Hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Eloquently written, Ben, and it resonates with me.
    (Synchronicity – this morning I was thinking about ashes, writing a poem in my head, and then my thoughts inevitably turned to the subject of dust. And awhile later, here was your poem!)

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A poignant poem, Ben. Thinking of you both…

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Oddly, like Betty, I too had started a poem about dust and ashes, prompted by ‘fear in a handful of dust’ and wondering why ‘fear’? I suppose it is the deadness of dust – thank goodness for music!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Music stirs so much more than memories, our own emotions laced with the art, evident even beneath the dust.

    Liked by 1 person

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