The Box

A large wooden box sits on a table

Oak with vines of cedar

The box was locked

With latches tight

Filled with wishes

Filled with dreams

Or so it seems

Filled with nightmares and songbirds

Instead of sweet faeries that dance in our bed

It might open slowly

Creaking slightly

Or quickly

Not a sound at all

Would it open with clash,

Bang, or boom

For all that stood in the room

The box that hid all desires

When open it seem

To hold something

But shall remain

Such a riddle

To all