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.

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