Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Tattered Boxes

It sat there on my stoop as rain beat down.
For how long I don't know - long enough to be soggy on the corner peeking out from under the awning. 
Used as a step to something else, 
A boot print marred one side - the mark of selfishness and need. 
Crushed corners,
Obviously opened more than once,
Cast aside upon my door step:
Fate testing my heart. 
Dismayed I surveyed the worn box placing it unopened in a corner. 
Eventually, unsure why, I sliced it open. 
Indescribable beauty lay inside - not what I was looking for, though exactly what I needed.
Packaging irrelevant,
Prejudice disabused:
Exteriors and Experiences proven inconsequential. 

No comments:

Post a Comment