The Box
My hopes and dreams
are kept in a small wooden box.
The key
once new and shining
has now crumbled away to dust.
To be swept up
with some other useless dirt
found around the house.
The memories of these hopes and dreams
are floating and fading away.
I can see them escaping
when I lay down for sleep.
They flee like spirits
escaping newly passed bodies.
Flying swiftly
unto the open arms of heaven.
Copyright © X X | Year Posted 2006
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