The Box

Lying on the dresser, next to rusting tin and earrings,
Beds a once perfectly crafted box of our imaginations.
Through the years it has worn as it does its job well
Sometimes it gives answers, sometimes questions.

This box, you see, is no ordinary one,
But it tells us always what we ought to hear.
We need not ask any questions, it sees to our hearts,
And knows everything which we hold dear.

Sometimes all we need is a light in the tunnel,
Not always at the end, but one to light our path.
This box, you see, may not say what we’d like,
But it answers those questions we’re afraid to ask.

This box nurtures our spirits and frees us of pain;
It is our strongest passion, like coal on the trains,
It fuels our emotions and torments our brains.
It pushes us further to achieve as we strain
Against society and their efforts to drain
Knowledge from our bodies as we lift up and praise
The one who brought us here and by who we were raised.

By Him we were nurtured, freed, and motivated
So daily open the box and be liberated.
Feel clumsy and gay for those things you once hated
Then live your life and know you never once traded
The love of your savior or ideas in your head
For folly with those who are immortally dead.