The Box - Poem by Gilbert Ortega
With love and care I fashioned a box
With golden keys and heart-shaped locks.
Cherubs etched into the frame
And, for its hue, a blood-red stain.
But, inside, it is more a tomb
One like my cold and darkened room.
Four bare walls, a floor, a ceiling
An empty space, devoid of feeling.
This box will keep one sole device
One that must remain on ice.
The only thing I truly own
Since you've left me all alone.
My heartache, the only occupant
With nothing else to serve or compliment.
Like a skull encased in graveyard dirt
I shut the lid and lock the hurt.
Sooner should I have made this chest
When your love for me was at its crest.
I would keep a slice of your affection
A shred of love for my reflection.
But my words are done, I've said my peace
My pain, my woes will soon decrease.
Our time has passed and so have I
Within this box in which I lie.
Comments about The Box by Gilbert Ortega
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You