A painted box of card huddles in the corner,
Mosaics of bright colors leaping and swirling, into floral patterns,
And the lid poised daintly ajar on top of its dusty house,
Being not quite adequate shelter for it's contents,
Leaves a square of shadowed light imprinted within it's dusky interior.
It wasn't forgotten there, as such,
Rather placed there as to prevent its loss amongst the mountains
Of packages, bundles, parcels wrapped up anonomously in brown,
And polished off with white thread bows
Waiting to be opened, or shipped away outside to god knows wher
rawr i'm just too tired to bother. will continue it tomorrow i promise!
Let Imagination Possess A Pen, And What Results Will Be Beautiful
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