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Locked
The wooden box is locked.
The key is lost beneath the waves.
Its contents now forgotten,
Its memories forever saved.
Dust entropes the lonesome box
as it loathes each passing day.
Each tomorrow comes and goes,
but there the box must stay.
Years, it seems, fly by; fly by.
Each flight a safe return.
But each new flight, and more I feel
the box that for me yearns.
And I for that where memories live,
thoughts which I once did own.
The box retains its secret,
its denizens unknown.
I struggle to emancipate
the captured past inside.
Strength escapes my efforts;
each endevour is denied.
'Til on the day that fate decreed,
routine as each before,
her never-failing beauty
lightly floated through the door.
The box I carried with me
shook as earth might quake.
The thoughts I'd locked away burst forth
and forced my soul inside to shake.
The secret's out for all to see
to do with as they please.
The box lays broken at my feet
and I am fallen to my knees.
And as she stands there stricken
by my feelings now aflame;
I see inside her eyes
that she could never feel the same.
And so, the box stays broken,
the pieces thrown into the wind;
it still contains one item
an ache that never can rescind.
