Boxes, Nothing Really Lasts

Boxes plead, musty their engagement,
with a dusty cement floor,
the shadows of purpose wasted by time,
and memories thinned by life’s continuance,
spilled out in brave attempts,
teddy bears limbs and old laments on paper,
letters and sentiments stored in memory,
but lost from mind.
My shed is filled with shadowed past,
boxes stacked as time imparts its fate,
and sadness yields to dark displace,
lost as change does swallow whole our bygone days,
when children yearned for soft toys and trains,
and strewn those plastic playthings made a mess,
and drove us half to death,
now just a passing thought.
Boxes stacked in random array,
half-open some like memories trying to escape,
and trip I may for their inconvenience,
dust and grime settled fine
as time envelopes their being,
and recognition claims little now of their contents,
just a life lived and passed,
nothing really lasts.
Tony DeLorger © 2016
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- Like a Breeze Recalls - March 27, 2021
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There must be a world where all old boxes full of stuff goes. Over the years mine have dwindled down quite a bit and I have no idea where they have gone. It is probably a good thing I do not have a shed or an attic. Why do we store memories in boxes? I guess just in case we need this or that some day. Nicely penned Tony.
Thanks Phyllis, I presently keep a garage filled with old boxes, some with soft toys from my children’s childhood, some twenty years ago. I try to throw them out and my kids jump up and down; mind you they don’t take them. I’m a sucker! Glad you related and enjoyed my friend. Take care.