By Marie Ellen Pacha

The sign on the pawnshop read
Keeper of Dreams.
and all of the items are not what they seem.

The man at the counter smiled softly at me.
Said, “Look and hold gently,
all that you see.

All of these treasures hold memories galore.
The people that owned them,
loaned them to my store.

Life as it moved on has sent some my way,
some are here for a while,
and some here will stay.”

A guitar in the corner at once caught my eye.
My fingers strummed once,
then away they did fly.

They moved with a certainty into a tune,
rang out a melody,
of sorrow and ruin.

Tears fell from my eyes, streaming like rain,
as I lived someone’s memories,
and shared all their pain.

Whispers of sound, echoed in the air,
I could see someone’s shadow,
standing just there.

A ring on the counter drew me near by its glow.
I held it for a moment,
and somehow seemed to know.

The finger was worn on, was held true in love,
The soul that once shared it,
now dwelled far above.

The owner was crying when he spoke to me.
“It is of such memories,
that a man’s life should be.

My wife was my dream, and we made it come true.
I give you this ring,
may it happen for you.”

The sign on the pawnshop read
Keeper of Dreams.
and all of the items are not what they seem.

Some dreams are in future, and some are the past.
Some move by quickly,
and some last and last.

Thank you for your patronage, and please do come back.
If you’re searching for something,
we have what you lack.