The clutter builds up day by day.
It’s hard to hold the mess at bay.
How are we supposed to know
What we should keep, what throw away?
The layers pile up year on year.
We should get rid of them, but fear
That something precious may be lost.
Who knows what memories will disappear?
And yet there is a contrary desire
To lose each thing that time lets us acquire.
There is a peace when everything is gone,
There is a cleansing purity in fire.
Note: the prompt was to write a ruba’i, which is a four-line stanza, with a rhyme scheme of AABA, or a number of them to make a rubaiyat, as in The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.