“Poem | Time & The Ligneous Cannister”

A pampered box of wood –
scratched, cut, and demolished
stands in the corner of my heart.
still to be noticed, silenced to be heard.

It holds the memories, raw and baked,
tiny and huge, accomplishments and failures;
from beginning to the end, from young to the old.

Veins in the box carry the blood,
and enormous wings that fly,
but it didn’t, couldn’t, and can’t even try.
time and time though screeches to run,
but sit as if it was hollow and dry.

Breaking woods diminishes as the darkness intumesce,
The hope of trying and finding a new world collapses,
Even if the hope keeps flying,
escapes the memories from the little torn hole.

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