The Silver Box

The Silver Box
It’s four o’clock in the morning
and everyone else is in bed.
I’m alone, just the cats on my knee,
thoughts running through my head.

The silver box is on the fireplace;
I can see it from the corner of my eye.
I try not to look at it, turn my face away,
but it’s still there no matter how hard I try.

I stare at it for a while, then a little while more.
If I pick it up, what will I do?
Maybe if I just hold it close to me
and let the memories flood through.

The silver box is in my hands.
I’m trembling, my hands start to shake.
It’s just a little box, I keep telling myself.
But such a huge step to take.

I hold on to it tight a while longer
Hold it close to my heart, hand on the lid.
I struggle to open the silver box
To see the memories that are still hid.

It’s only a silver box after all.
Why be scared about what I would find?
But those trinkets and bangles, rings and chains
Should be worn, not left behind.

Ive opened it now. I’m touching each piece
Each one, a memory from a life passed.
Each memory to cherish, to make my heart cry
But memories to last and last.