• The Box

    Newspaper clippings, bits of stuff
    Memoirs from my past
    Photographs and ticket stubs
    Never seem to last

    Memories,
    An image in the mind
    Reminding me,
    Of the courage
    That I could not find

    Stumbling over old love notes
    That you never read
    Seeing you with your girlfriend
    I was her, in my head

    Memories,
    An image in the mind
    Reminding me,
    Of the courage
    That I tried to find
    But unsuccessfully failing
    Causing myself to fall behind

    I’ve called myself a loser
    For years, from then to now
    I’ve sifted through my memories
    And I’m stumped on the question of how,

    I could care so much about something
    I could never achieve
    I’ve hunted in my past
    And have led myself to believe

    That photographs will fade with time
    That newspapers and tickets will rip
    That love notes are horrible wastes of paper
    And that memories sooner or later, from the mind, will slip

    I never really ever have loved
    And don’t believe that I will right now
    Because love would overpower me
    And to fight back, you must now how

    So love will be searching
    Searching for another host
    Searching for another body
    That in life is missing the most

    To infiltrate and make venerable
    To bring many new emotions, and to fill
    With the capacity to care
    And with passion, love, and will

    The will to take on challenges
    To take on changes of the heart
    I don’t have will or courage
    So I’ll know when love begins to start

    Until then I’ll empty my box of thoughts from the past
    Dispose of all of the pain,
    The feelings, the hatred, the love and the fear
    And be washed clean with the spring time rain

    I’ll start anew
    Converse with my friends, more than I ever had
    And give my life a meaning
    It shouldn’t be all that bad

    Now that I come to think of it
    I’d been missing a lot
    Because instead of thinking of what the future would bring
    I’d been dwelling on what the past had brought

    Now my memory box is empty
    My soul is full with fun
    This poem now is over
    And is memoir number one