The Pawn Shop

Inspired by Robert Browning

Don’t mind the bell for it bids to foretell, 
by the jounce rattle of the ring, 
that within this port will course bits of 
despair which bring the timeless waste 
of precious ware to rest upon these 
shelves seen both here and there.  
Perhaps you have come with thought’s 
of another, or to glance precise at the 
flirtatious Duchess, Porphyria’s Lover 
or Lucifer’s mother.   This once 
unfettered space gives up swan 
or swoon spent through turbulent twists of 
time the mannered stone, a quiet tone, 
the means of chivalrous atone, rare 
words spent freely, the minted heads of 
ancient riches.   Each await with patient
reserve to serve new masters;  fresh 
melodies from threadbare lyrics; grey 
themes to be given new schemes; time
reset for urgent generations. 
Oh!  This space is not as empty as first 
appears to you.  Once born of a swollen 
heart, the unseen veiled and hollow mortal 
spirits immured here evermore have come
for less than a mere pittance.   Lost of  
neither breath nor soul, spilled only of the
empty wraith from no less than contempt’s
pretence of pious pride.  Conceived of 
betrayal’s incarnate deception, each now 
void of any shared sentiment save shredded
affection; all for the petulant pursuit of envy’s 
petty distractions.  
Take leave now to retrieve as you will.  
Though these treasures, their worth no 
longer apprised by earthly means, 
nor to be reclaimed or sustained, shall
dwell without recourse as eternally mine.  
For to be denied once is to be denied forever.

                                                                       Châz

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