Music Box

I wind and wind and wind
And then I watch the ballerina spin
I never get tired of the soft melody that accompanies her dance

The music haunts me in my days
I hear my neighbor playing it on her piano
And I think of the way you laughed, and talked, and moved your hands 

And how you danced, and danced, and then you stopped 
Because, well, the ballerina and the music cease too
The gears break, the spring bends too much

The box is cracked into pieces
I’m standing alone and wondering 
If this was really what I wanted to feel 

I lay at night hallucinating your voice 
Thinking of things you could’ve said to me 
If we had spent more time alone

And wonder how you did it
The same dull click of the closing music box
The torn off notes and the interrupted ballerina 

The same dull look in your eyes
How did you do it?
Was it calloused rope or was it your uniform tie?

But they don’t wear ties in the military 
They don’t wear white shirts with ironed collars  
They only wear guns 

You were wound and wound and wound 
Forced to play this ugly music
Forced to spin around and dance against your will

I didn’t have the time to shut the box and let you rest
You got wound and wound and wound
Until you snapped

Copyright © March Archer | Year Posted 2023

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