MY CLOSET . . .

My Closet

Don't be pokin' your nose into my closet unless you can stand the stench

Searching for my old dollies with hidden innuendoes sitting on the bench

On bottom left lies a black box - it's full of anger - it's full of hate

Past fogotten arguements - once opened - still fighting for debate

On the top right hand shelf a box of sorrows - still hoping to be forgot

Waiting on the paper mites to devour them or they turn to dust and rot

In the left hand corner on a hook hanging is a shadow of my old self

Of a happier person - whose wisdom was worth more than its wealth

Boots, shoes and sandals lie haphazardly dry, dust like - knowing the score

Of every battle we have ever won or lost - but never winning the bloody war

Rails of faded jackets, jumpers, trousers, tops and swirling skirts

To scared to move them around - in case my secrets they do blurt

No - the tiny key to my closet remains around my neck upon a chain

To stop your child like noseyness within my privvy closet - is my aim

The pink and yellow box of old photographs - memories for my eyes only

Filled with forgotten faces and stops my heart and mind from being lonely

Upon the top shelf a trinket box once wound - still can play its own tune

A melody of tears - by "Beethoven" - best played under a clear full moon

Yes - this is my closet - my treasure trove - my secret - only to myself

My whole life before me just hanging on the rails or sitting on the shelf

Indiana Shaw . . . -_-