Box

The best gifts,

Come in cracked packages.

I’m a frail thing,

But frailty comes with advantages.

Don’t open me, Pandora,

There’s darkness within me.

I am the cracking twig,

Within the great Oak tree.

Too much wind and I may snap,

Too much heat and I may burn.

But you just see the tree,

Not the quivering inner fern.

My box is nigh unbreakable,

My latch has held secure.

The twig I keep within,

Protected in my core.

I am made of palest Ivory,

With a warning on the top.

‘What is held within this box,

You will not be able to stop’.

So let curiosity draw you in,

Gravitational and true.

But keep your fingers off the latch,

For from me they shall spew.

Oh fountain of insecurity,

Cornucopia of sin.

A geyser bursting upwards,

Heated by fear within.

I was made to hold these evils,

Clasped shut by the Gods above.

I did not wish to be opened,

Not by you, Pandora, my love.

Despite my heart being yours,

There simply isn’t room.

For a heart to fit inside me,

Due to my swelling Devil’s womb.

I know what I contain,

The frail twig within the tree.

The fears of humankind,

Condensed to fit in me.

I love you my Pandora,

And thus, to keep evil at bay.

To keep my box locked,

I must forever, push my love, away.