Consignment House

It seems as if I’ve seen them before, somewhere.
Quietly soothing, speaking with no words.
Crazy of sorts, yet still.
Just resting on a shelf in some distant setting.
Visited many times through very different touches.
There seems to be no cost, a negative on free as well.
Out in the open for all to handle, slightly dust ridden.
Tall old boots and shiny newborn spinner tops.
Both wearing tags of somehow drifted upon amounts.
What is now on the rack was at one time protected.
Shelved in the present and ready to begin, instantly awaiting.
Consigned to a new home of daily visit.
Objects of passage or inventions of wonder?
No tendency to splurge in this house…..
No sacrifice……..
No overwhelming fancy……….
Based on moments and those faint, floating, passions…
Oh WOW…………. Look at that, a long lost treasure!
One simple, dusty, characterized, iota of soul…
No tags…
No numbers of amount…
No need…..
Just peaking through the window, into the house of consignment.