The Music Box

I put all my dreams into a silver box,
the kind that plucks out a clumsy motif
for a tiny dancer, fragile, moon-faced,
to spin in a gold-leaf circle eternal.

I glued the lid down with tears, watched the world
disintegrate into fragments of nights
spent grasping for someone, instead finding
dust motes drifting under hospital lights.

When I had nothing left, scarred hands opened
the lid of a tarnished silver box
to find the song silenced, the dancer dead,
but all the stardust dreams still intact.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(This needs revised sooo badly ;