My Cave of Wonders

A patchy varnished wooden box, about the size of a small book;

A redolent scent of tobacco, torpor and time;

Prying open the creaking lid, twisting the broken hinges;

There grows a shrub of paper, speckled with insignificant significance;

Filled with words and relics and mnemonic artefacts of happiness past;

The names at the bottom of letters begin to lose connection to a face;

The cracked paper of tributes, love and reminiscence turn yellow;

The artefacts I've so carefully carried from place to place, lose colour and sheen;

My only fear, is that the memories follow;

Fading, until the box is empty.

Ethan..