nephilim56

THE BOX

An old shoe box
From the attic
Covered in dust
Tied with string.

When opened
Sails to breeze
Lost fragrance
Winter trees.

Old photographs
With corners missing
Half forgotten loves
Now kissing.

Time within
That dusty hour
Seemed to freeze
A leaning tower.

Years now released
Like ghosts encroaching
Such pretty faces
Leaving silent traces.