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22 June 2014

Filling the box

Fragments of thoughts
drifting around inside my head
like sections of newspaper
blowing and scattering and littering
the streets of an empty city
or a city still fast asleep,
not yet touched
by the morning workers
who collect the past
in their garbage trucks
to make things neat and clean
before the next wave
of paper and print.

Salvage some of those papers,
collect them in a wooden box
with a sailing ship
carved on the lid,
the box of hopes
and dreams and remembering,
the treasure chest of the mind,
a collection started and coveted
on the morning of our lives,
curated as time flows forward,
things discarded and then longed for,
things burned away with joy,
memories carefully wrapped
and stored in the bottom
of the box.

Fragments of dreams
- for thoughts and dreams
become one inside
the treasure box -
and fragments of hope
begin to fill up, until
we realize that the only way
to make room for these
drifting remnant pieces
is to throw away
the dirty strips of despair.

And so let us burn these away,
burn the oiled up papers
of our long-ago failures,
of our self-imposed inadequacy
until there is room again
to keep filling our box
of dreams and thoughts.

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