This Box

Inside this box, I hold the world around me,

and let it sink into my solemn skin,

to feel the fire of strangers who have found me,

and warmth of caring friends who hold like kin.

 

Its sides are made from memories of loss,

for sorrow’s best for keeping pain at bay;

its lid is splinters from bridges burned and crossed,

engraved with words too shy for heart to say.

 

The latch is locked without a code or key,

and force would not work well for hands to pry

the memories from wooden sides and seams,

but tales of dreams escaping from inside,

 

say whispered promises of days of trust,

and release from pain and sorrow in coming years,

untie knots with strength man cannot muster –

the strength faith wields, that swears freedom from fears.

 

JS (c)