The Box

There is a box I keep at the edge of my bed,
worn with use, I've colored it red.
not blood, but a more muted rust & lead,
I fill it with all the things I've never said.

I fill it with those thoughts that should never be,
I fill it with my dreams that light should never see,
I fill it with all the could have been's, all those who leave,
I fill it with your fading love, all the times I couldn't grieve.

It sits there quietly, never says a thing,
Never a murmur of how fast it fills, not a ring,
It only listens and takes it all in,
Only looks with compassionate silence as mine sings.

Just that one day in many it starts to overflow,

and streams down my face as tears start to flow,
It can do nothing to stop them as can I, though,
Just wait patiently till the mourning lets go.

And to this box I will add you too,my sweet,
What I planned my life around, made replete.
It is destiny maybe that my star's four points will never meet.
On the days the box overflows, for you too I will go down that street.