An old carved walnut box, sat collecting dust in a corner.
Her many words, desires, dreams, passion and love.
She passed by it, many times, without ever stopping to read the words she wrote.
She held them there in thought, recanting imagery in what they were made of.
She picks up a book, “Author Unknown”, and begins to read,
like reading her own thoughts, vivid detail coming into view.
So much parallel to her own dreams, desires, passion,
like a plagiarism of her heart….yet no one ever knew.
Kept tucked away, for many years, with others piling up as time passed by.
She shared many, but not the ones in the old carved walnut box,
they were for her eyes only,
the parts that kept her shadowed in mystery.
This writer, “Author Unknown”
words stepped into her memory,
pulling out visions, emotions felt so deep,
written and rewritten,
pieces of her life she wanted to keep.
Words not exact, but familiarity so strong,
she stares at the box, sitting for so long.
Maybe just maybe, it is time now to share.
Warm light pours through her window,
a whisper and a soft touch,
as though someone was there.
An old carved walnut box,
covered in dust,
a book, “Author Unknown”
she opens up, within herself, trust.
