In the closet of forgotten space
There's a box, washed in the scent of yesterday's rain
Unwrapped memories cling to dust
Each circle in its form a path undone
Everyone asks, "Where did it come from?" but
No one dared to ask the shadows.
My fingers trace the jagged edge of curiosity,
They are the young seekers,
Wrapped in silken gloom,
Thinking how warmth of the gift equates to the silence they feel.
Follow the unseen river
or Scale the mute mountain
and find what it's really worth.
Spin this tale; we're lost in, Neither gifts nor ghosts will answer us.