Boxes

There is a space,

That sometimes can be found in a physical place,

And it holds the contents of a woman's heart.

It is tiny and small,

And to you, it means nothing at all,

But it is filled with secrets that she could never part.

Shinies that bejewel her spirit,

Whispers, lies told, lost futures, and fragments of lil' titbits.

In that tiny grave of her heart are dear things that have long fallen apart.

She will hide them away like forgotten relics of a lost city,

She will kiss them with once hope and sometimes pity.

These trinkets, photos, and tiny bits of paper are the cemetery of her heart.

Ghosts, friends, and dreams all lay there sleeping,

Until the day she lies there with her heart and no longer weeping.