A Closed and Silent Box
The day is about to start, the moon hides,
and the box is still laying there, closed.
Another day, like many others before,
Showing its glow, and the box lies there, silent.
The sun starts to reveal itself, and he
Standing in the same lonely street as
Yesterday, wonders if days just repeat
Themselves, as we prepare for the next one.
The box lies next to him, the box he has seen
So many times, oh, so many times.
He wants to open the box, but he fears
Nothing will have changed, same as yesterday.
The sun has shown itself now, and he
Enjoys the early warmth, like a child
Walking to school in early morning. But his
Childhood is long gone, and the box is still there.
If I could only know, he wonders, if the
Box will have a surprise, perhaps
Everything would be easier, and today
Would end today. But, today seems infinite.
The box lies next to him, a porcupine
Quill box, closed and silent under the sun.
He wants to open it, but he knows better.
So, the box stays close, and maybe is not empty.