the collector

The Collector

In the basement in the house of dreams there is
a room behind a padlocked oak door, it’s where
I keep treasures collected over years, I waited
to share them with the right one who came my
way, waited till the day she came; only now
I had lost the key and couldn’t get in to give
her, my love I had hidden from view too long.
Dissolution, in her eyes as she faded in a mist
of misery. If I live to be so very old that people
will come, admire my longevity I will think
how odd it is to be famous for an irrelevant fluke;
the lock will have rusted and fallen to the floor,
and as the door glides open and sun light enters,
I shall see dust glitter as gold for me alone.