great expectations

the flotsam and the detritus
of every day accumulates
to litter the surfaces of
my life.  i can hardly
escape the clutter.  each
item is charged with meaning.
i throw away what i can and
store the rest.  it reminds me of
mrs. haversham's room in england,
still adorned for a marriage that
never happened.  it occurs in
charles dickens' great expectations:
the rotten cake, the dress, the mice,
and pip comes to understand that
this is not the secret source of
his unexpected wealth...rather
a chance encounter on the heath
with an escaped convict led
him into his present wealth.  it
was disillusioning.  we do not
know the final source of things.
they are hidden in darkness.  life
corrupts and does not satisfy,
unless of course you turn to God
and find some peace and solace there.