Small Things

Small things

like rings

and 

things 

have a way of going 

away. 

They drop 

and 

roll. 

Never meant to stay. 

In the dark of night 

or even

in the light of day

somehow they still 

slip away. 

Such hope was placed 

on some shiny rings. 

On some shiny things. 

Blinded by the light. 

Even in the night

they gleamed. 

Alive they almost seemed.

Warm to the touch

but 

in the end they did not 

mean much. 

Hopes pinned on shiny

gleaming rings 

and things. 

But sometimes hope grows

wings 

and 

it flies away. 

Leaving us 

crying 

for

the rest of 

our days. 

Like the star

of some sad play. 

Doomed we search 

for the gleaming 

shiny rings 

and things 

that rolled away,

to stay,

til the end 

of our days.