a windless night
in such silence
I hear a lone tree whisper:
I am the container
you pour yourself into
from cradle to coffin
the splintered steps
you daily climb
the way in
and the way out
a rusty hinged wooden door
I frame the perfect piece of art
that stirs and awakens you
I am the sacred journal by your bedside
the poignant pages of yesterday’s resolve
the day will come, it always does
and you’ll unfurl your life
inside my cardboard boxes
driving by that row of pines
one last time
more than a second chance
I’ll be your everything.
©heartsdeesire
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