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What is in it? - What is the Box?

I put it up high, deep and away

Packaged perfectly, safe and sound.

Maybe I muse, for when I am old and grey

without whispers of howling hound

Set up, displayed in plain sight.

Perhaps, when I feel less bound

Where weeping had not longed the previous night

Until then the the walls in my head start to pound

 

That box - is for opening on a stronger day

One day when I do not feel I must fight

I need to keep my eyes open, my mind active - if I may.

When my eyes adjust to the dawning light

 

That box is for someone else stronger - I again say

A wiser wandering woman, still wounded but around

I keep heavy lids open with all of my might

That box holds every new mistake I have found

 

It holds every fear and all of my plight

Buried in every burden that ground me down

Where is the wise woman who has love,

who does not have constant need to be right.

With tempered tongue not fire from the heavens above

 

I can not sleep yet... Please.. I am awake, please stay

I am not ready to rest yet, to smash into the ground

This is too heavy for me to speak yet - so instead let's play

Let's talk of nothings - in games where winners are uncrowned

Games of questions, with no answers just wings, prayers and tears

With words that are only seeming profound -

 

Shedding hate while seeking to take back the years

Replaced with something quite quiet, in sight

Speak aloud with laughter - letting go of all wasted fears

Let the love cradle warm and rock you tight

 

We are all matter asking if we matter, or what is the matter - I guess

What is the difference between being cursed, cured or blessed?

What is the difference between peace, and finding rest?

Will this life I live always make me feel like a guest

Upon a stage in a play where I do not know my own name?

Could we just. regress, or merely digress?

Please, could we close our eyes and play a different game?

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Written by
AshleyBCampriani
32 / F / American
Published
Apr 15
Lines·Words
38·364
Notes

Hardened heart of a revenant in a casket on a shelf. Waiting for the day, she can be herself.

Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell AshleyBCampriani how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

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