I Want People to Share Their Poetry

The Silk Lined Box

There’s a place I sometimes go,
When the shadows fall long,
My mind drifts back to aged memories,
The crashing waves of my dreams.

In the dappled sunlight of green and blue,
The cooling blue refreshes,
Sharpening my resolve,
To peer once more into my yesterday.

The lid creaks open one last time,
I stare at the contents of carefree days,
Faded images of older times,
Wash over me in torrents.

My aged hands worn by time,
Clutch the old box for a moment still,
Until at last I curl up on the green grass,
And fall asleep evermore.

Patrick