Spent

I found echoes of a testimony written in the dark, Buried in a wooden box, Made from Noah’s ark. It started with an apology for the damage that they’d done, It said they took too much, And had tried to steal the sun. There was nothing else within the box, But for a little knot of hair, And a yearning of lost sorrow, that gently filled the air. I closed the lid, And laid the box, For another to come and find, Because something deep within me, Said this wasn’t for mankind.