What is all this stuff I have, the possessions, the weight of things.
What is the need to have and to hold, to gather, hoard and keep.
I am not my things and they are not me.
They will be nothing when I last sleep.
This heaviness on my shoulders and the weight upon my back.
Of things bought, traded and collected along the way.
Carried through my days in boxes, trunks and bags.
What do things mean to me today?
I came into this world with nothing.
I will leave with nothing still.
I am not things and they not me.
I will not be remembered for the things I leave.
It will be my acts, my deeds.
My faults and strengths.
How I loved and failed.
How I loved and soared.
It will be memories raised though the days
of the people who knew me well.
That will make them smile and remember.
That I mattered to them in some small way.
I am not things and things not me.
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