The Box

There, is your dreams, inside it.

I know you know where.

There there, let me remind you.

Sitting as though on a dusty ebony coffee table

There, the shiny cherry wood box.

Aged lace cloth it sits on,

There, underneath, stiff, stained yellow.

Little did they know,

There, on that box remains a lock.

I knew.

There, like an insomniac waits for the morning

I long to feel your joy

There, the joy,

As the first shining beam of daybreak, it cracks open

There I know you have waited.

But have since forgotten of the morning

There, growing used to the dark.

Your soul seemingly lost in your dreams.

There, it is not.

It is not.

The key I do own; did you not know?

It is not lost.

There, the lock, never forgotten by me.

They made you forget.

I, there, I can find you in your dreams.

Then we will dream together.