The Treasure Chest
Tim looked at the strong box crafted in oaken wood saplings and reason
Inside a map of his world he had travelled with dreams gusto and passion
Far away seas crested in a whirl wind of passage collected within and
Not without a longing desire for sails full of change and direction afar
A faded cross right pointed to where the treasure must lie and to where
The chest was buried deep in the quick sand of time or was it a coffin
He was nailed boxed in wrapped up in oil paper stabbed with his anchor
A pirate had pulled the plug and Tim perched on a dry dock of thought
Cliff faces and reefs obstructed horizons and sails were glued to the mast
And the ‘must’ to end suffocation but the bilge was flooding and scuppered
The crow’s nest for outlook swung precariously from one side to other as
Jacob’s ladder had lost most of its rungs as even the transom cried treason
His torso wriggled in the trunk but the binnacle bowed not for the compass
But then the needle found headway where scrawny worms had gathered
Punctured the confinement and the boom chain snapped emotional drought
At long last and long may it last Tim found a ferry to the chest in his heart
02 March 2019
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