Treasured

What is it there beneath the lid,

creaking wood of memories crypt

remembered scent and sound of days

so far gone by,

useless bric-a-brac hovering

on the edge of a thought

almost forgotten,

but not quite yet.

Are there stories in there lurking beneath dust,

has it been ages since the light has seen

these images of yellowed tattered remnants

of broken hearts and letters from loved ones

now gone into the ethereal skies

waiting without another chance to be,

or to whisper a final goodbye.

Are there fragile pieces wrapped in silk,

tucked in gently lest they break from handling,

a feather from somewhere on travels afar

or rocks in shades of mysterious caves,

reds and grays,

stacked upon books saved for rainy days,

what treasure is there

buried in your mind,

words left to find

to write,

to live a life of their own

to be shared,

to be gathered and loved.

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