From the Shoe box

I'll write about

From the shoe box I share
all that happened upstairs
late one night in bed
when sleep avoided me
leaving me idle with time
a silent type of behavior
I accepted with glee.

Beside me tools of the trade
I used to communicate
trusty pen and tablet
eager for words that were lodged
between random thoughts
begging to be written before
they fade.

If you look closely
you will notice watermarks
preventing anyone from copying
words that became painful
thoughts that I held captive
but released when sparks
burnt my fingers.

She had entered my heart
like so many times before
but this time it was different
for she was longing to hear
what life was like beyond
still waiting underground
to be taken to a shore
where I would welcome her
with joy and tears
fresh from the sea I had been
drowning in.

I would gladly trade my shoe box
full of pleasure and pain
if it were possible to obtain
more of her.

2 thoughts on “From the Shoe box

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burn baby burn

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