A box that contain memories, of bittersweet realities,
The only thing that knows the inner walls of a desolate heart.
No one can open it … there is no key,
As the heart closes its eyes to embrace its forlorn reality
Memories flood into the box, painting painfully-beautiful imagery.
At the core of the box lies a garden, exclusive,
Where the mind can create memories, all-inclusive.
Not bound by that which bounds the external realm,
The mind admires beauty and wanders off.
Invisible but strong, undetectable yet true,
Beyond emotions, gestures and fantasies or any poetic imagery,
Desires whisper secrets that acknowledgment will never hear,
Wordless melodies, utterly meaningless to the world outside the box,
Not out of fear, rather,to avoid subjugation of inadequate means,
The only visitor and retriever keeps the box alive.