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Tiny Boxes
Tiny boxes, stacked high in a cavernous room,
Packed in dark, forgotten corners,
Crammed together in heaps, alone.
What is in the boxes? Often asked
Yet forgotten,
Only numbers and tallies still remain.
No one truly cares.
Do they have names or souls, these boxes?
Are their purposes intact?
Or do they sit and rot, these boxes?
Lost to time and intelligence.
Once names could be said, recited.
Known by one and all.
Boxes held, lids thrown open,
Blissful secrets treasured.
Dreams and wishes, thoughts and ideals.
Held to the heart, these boxes.
Life itself within their walls.
Comments (1 Comments)
- evanesce-nnce - 01/26/2009
- This poem is full of meaning smile Faved smile
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