A poem about something that can be fairly dull, but I proved to myself that even the most dull of tasks can we written about in an artful way.
Some say the state of our home,
Is a reflection of our minds.
That when we clean the world without,
We also scrub out our insides.
Some people have a messy home,
And they might have messy minds.
But the fact is some do thrive in chaos,
And that the mess is not a mess.
Others they have spotless homes,
Any grime gives them distress.
They seem to clean so fervently,
That I wonder what’s inside.
I admit it’s easy to collect,
Collect things that gather dust.
But under the dust are memories,
That never fades inside our heads.
So when I clean I do take care,
I pick among my memories.
I blow the dust off carefully,
And only toss what I don’t love.