A Sonnet To Change

The easel lies neatly packed away. I

try to ignore it, but it accuses.

A memory aches to be brought to life.

This phantom longs to expose abuses.

My dead lavender begs to be thrown out

as I hold on to it for potpourri.

Choosing to ignore the obvious shout,

I display for all passersby to see.

My room is overfilled with paradox.

I decorate the dilapitated,

my furniture is this still unpacked box.

My neglect cannot be overstated!

In unison, the easel and the plant

whisper, "It's a new year. Time to repent."