Box
A lonely road a quiet night a half a load of pale moonlight shown down
A shroud of mist surrounded trees discretely veiling mysteries to come
A lonely figure cloaked in gray inclined his head, I heard him say,
"Come here."
And in his hand he held a key, said it unlocked a box that dealt with
me:
"Your guilty secret's mine," he said. "I know you would
wish you were dead
if ever you laid eyes inside what's mine.
For happiness can never last, you're haunted by your guilty past."
And in my mind I wondered what he had:
Was it a smoking gun, a bloody knife, a tax return, my neighbor's wife?
What would it be? (run all the time)
Would it be dirty hands, a dirty mind, a fleeting heart, five of a
kind?
What would I see? (run all the time)
He started laughing at my fate and he told me it was much too late
for me
He said, "But don't you worry child, it'll never see the light
of day," and he smiled.
"But the everlasting karma stain will rot your soul and plague
your brain, you hear?"
He turned around and he tried to leave, but I grabbed the key from
his shirtsleeve and ran:
"Come back to me right now!" he cried, "You'll never
last, you've too much pride."
But my legs seemed to have minds of their own.
And so I ran until at last I came upon that fateful cask
in which my future waited to be shown:
Was it an Indian's grave, indulgence sale, a starving child, a humpback
whale?
What would it be? (run all the time)
Was it a helpless bum that I let die, avoiding mother's watchful eye?
What would I see? (run all the time)
Would I be eating twinkies, killing fags unwanted babes in plastic
bags?
What would I be? (run all the time)
I lift the lid, what did I see?
Be damned if it wasn't empty.
© Jonathan Patch
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