A box

A box sits in the corner
A box is waiting empty
Of thoughts, empty
To be filled, waiting
But time is slow moving
To take by surprise anyone
Who trusts it
A box sits empty
In a crowded corner, crowded
With boxes, time comes and goes
And crush them
Into fragments of memory
A memory is all that remains
Of them.

April 30, 2018

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About alaindesade

Novelist, songwriter and philosopher. Has special interest in human relations, evolution of mind, inter-cultural complications, and the concept of God.
This entry was posted in Philosophy, poem, poetry, psychology, reflections and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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