J) In The Box

Splinters of old wood,
Iron clasp and rust,
Held above sleep
And behind years,
Over the shadows of time.

In the box.

The circle of ghosts,
And the rattle of spiders
Fades
In the radiance of discovery,
Discovery of memory lost.

A thousand tales of joy,
Imprisoned in dusty trinkets,
Nesting in the darkness;

And the round circle of light,
Dances on the treasures of the past.

While jaded creatures
Wail and mutter
From the dark depths
Of their secure closet.