Fleeting Treasures
Know your God
In shadows deep where ox-wagons creaked, A boy from Natal chased the sun’s gold gleam, From Maritz kin, through dust and rivers bleak, Came willow plates, a trekker’s dream.
A godmother, with eyes like flame, Bestowed a watch, gold-ticked from distant shore, One hundred fifty years to chant the name, American heart in every chime it bore.
From Bruyns’ hearth, ‘neath the dragon mountain’s throne, A Spode service, blue as Italy’s wave, Dishes that whispered of the winds they’ve known, Heirlooms that danced from cradle to the grave.
Dad unearthed from attic gloom, A German train, clockwork from trenches’ roar, Just after Great War’s thunder shook the tomb, It chugged through peace on iron tracks once more.
Then youth awoke on Eddy Merckx’s steed, Through Argus miles around the Cape he flew, The bicycle that crowned his burning need, With sweat and glory, victory gleaming true.
To Ireland’s cliffs, where Waterford glass sang, Champagne flutes caught the foam of emerald seas, In toasts to lovers, wild and bittersweet, They sparkled bright as captured memories.
Black Forest pines, where cuckoos carved their call, He traded coin for time in wooden wing, That clock would herald joy, or mark the fall, Of hours fleeing on relentless spring.
Margerite, with paintbrush dipped in light, Gave Dutch girl portrait, cheeks like ripened peach, Her eyes held homelands lost to endless night, A canvas bridge no ocean could impeach.
In Mexico’s sierras, under sombrero’s brim, A hat he won from bandits in the fray, It shaded quests through canyons wild and grim, A trophy bold from freedom’s fierce array.
Oh, treasures gleam, they warm the fleeting breast, Yet hearts grow cold ‘neath gold and crystal’s fire! What joy in dust, what peace in iron chest? True riches burn in heaven’s pure desire!
The years rolled on like trains without a track, Sailing through storms, through love’s unyielding gale, Amassed a hoard, yet something pulls back— An empty ache no trophy could assuage.
One thunderous night, as pain racked the body’s frame, The treasures circled ‘round the bed, Watch ticked its dirge, the cuckoo wailed the name, The bicycle stood sentinel o’erhead. The willow cracked, the Spode in shards did weep, Flutes shattered shrill, the painting tore in twain, Train derailed in silence, cold and deep, Mexican hat blew lost in howling rain.
“What worth your gold?” a voice cried, “These chains of earth that bind the wandering soul? They sparkled once, but now in darkness died— Seek light eternal, make the spirit whole!”
Kneeling in ruin, treasures turned to rust, And whispered prayers to reach beyond the stars, “Forgive my chase through glory’s hollow dust, I know Thee now— my heart forever Thine!” A peace descended, sweeter than the wine In Waterford’s lost flutes, or victory’s crown; No watch could measure love so pure, divine— Smiling: “I’m happy, come down!”
Oh, treasures fade, they warm the fleeting breast, But your own God alone the frozen heart revives! In knowing, all wanderings find rest— Eternal joy where true fulfillment thrives!
~Roald Bartholomew
