You placed into it the choicest of things,
The kindest of your words,
The sweetest of your smiles,
The warmest of your embraces,
The genuinest of your blessings,
The smartest of your thoughts,
The gentlest of your kisses,
The best of yourselves.
In my time, I placed into the dream box,
the only thing a child has,
The entire life you built around me.
The dream box was forever mine to keep.
I would forever hold your best selves,
I would forever come back to you.
Safely buried, somewhere in our fertile hot red earth,
The treasure of treasures,
This dream box of mine.
So often I lay my head on the secret spot,
Listening below the ground, that faint tick of his precious watch;
Childhood terrors faded away,
when the lavender rose up from her perfumed kerchief.
The dream box below the ground illusioned a rare peace of mind and soul.
Carefully I noted the exact spot and then I put my dreams in a bag,
I saw you one last time before the plane took me away. We left each other.
I saw you one last time before the plane took me away. We left each other.
My carefree adolescent decision to run wild, far away from my child self,
Soon followed the scandalous ingress into adulthood,
The world that revolved around the dream box, slowly faded away.
The following day in hotel rooms, came the time to reflect the night before,
High tea rhyming with intoxicated sunrises and sunsets;
Sheets still warm from a recent absence, where did life go?
Money couldn't buy that lavender perfume troubling my brain,
Nothing could buy the musty tea stained Chekov story book I read with ma,
The best of me, I had left behind. In that dream box of mine.
Eons later, I went in search for the best of ourselves.
The fertile hot red earth had turned black and listless,
A home into a house into a blank space into your heads.
Your lives salvageable only by the best in the box.
I retraced my steps and put my ear to the ground. This here!
I listened carefully for the faint tic. Nothing.
A new sulfurous smell replaced her dreamy lavender.
I looked again, tears unable to help,
my mangled fingers clawing the ground, trying to find,
that dream box of mine.
The following day in hotel rooms, came the time to reflect the night before,
High tea rhyming with intoxicated sunrises and sunsets;
Sheets still warm from a recent absence, where did life go?
Money couldn't buy that lavender perfume troubling my brain,
Nothing could buy the musty tea stained Chekov story book I read with ma,
The best of me, I had left behind. In that dream box of mine.
Eons later, I went in search for the best of ourselves.
The fertile hot red earth had turned black and listless,
A home into a house into a blank space into your heads.
Your lives salvageable only by the best in the box.
I retraced my steps and put my ear to the ground. This here!
I listened carefully for the faint tic. Nothing.
A new sulfurous smell replaced her dreamy lavender.
I looked again, tears unable to help,
my mangled fingers clawing the ground, trying to find,
that dream box of mine.
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