On the top shelf
In the back of my mind
I keep it in a box
Four aging wooden walls
An oak roof
With a matching floor
There are no windows
Or doors
But from the inside
It can still see
All the world
Through the lens of a keyhole
Sometimes it aches for freedom
I must have lost the key
Other days it feels small
Safe inside a dusty spot
A day will come
It will be free
How far from now
Will you find my key?
(Perhaps an axe would do)
And never again
Should my heart be caged