Box of memories

 

May I interest you in some rhymes?

They may deteriorate over time but

they will be a symbol of the love

I hold in this chest.

A box locked tight for all time.

 

May I divert the task into a different

symbolic path? Distort the ordinary,

digest the inert, let us turn slow thoughts

into something of worth.

If we unearth this box,

I let sit deep under my earth,

we can move mountains,

or at least not just be scrabbling in the dirt.

 

Is it of interest, this locked up container?

Inside resides all of my fears,

my hopes, my dreams,

the chained-up screams that try to break free

when I feel unworthy or ill at ease.

It’s like a diary of who I have been

and who I will be. A treasure chest

of every perfect memory, or

a jack in the box, ready to surprise

with some old nightmare imagery.

It is like a music box, with my most abstract

thoughts dancing to some horror lullaby.

It contains every story that could ever

be written about me and every fantasy

I scrawl into hearts on the beach.

 

Would you hold the key tightly

to your chest, to feel its cold steel reverberate

with every beat, or would you drop

it to the floor, letting the sands of time

devour it, until it is just dust in the breeze.

 

For I would share all of this with you.

The good, the bad, the stories that flow,

if you would also,

share with me your memories,

your hopes and fears,

your victories and your lows.

For all makes you the person

I want to share my time with.

And this box, can just gather dust.

For I’d rather build new memories

with someone for whom I care.