A large chest stands dark against a wall,
Its large shadow falls, overwhelming the room.
Many drawers, undistinguished,
Line its width,
Rows upon rows,
To its full height.

The dust of time rests in their crevices,
They have been closed and sealed for a generation,
Filled with memories, keeping secrets,
Hoarding loves, dreams, disappointments.
Some of them hide folds of plenty good, and some,
Their contents are for infamy.

Fingers probing, caressing, hesitating,
Shall we open this or this one?
Feelings and hopes, expectations,
What may become of the secret if it shall be exposed to the light?
Will it sprout and bloom like a leaf of a clover,
Or will it turn red and crumble like the dust of caves?

The past is hidden among objects,
Pull and open for it, and it shall come out into the light,
Will it decorate present and future, or will it stain them?
A comet tail of memories,
Scattered in space,
Gleaming in the sunshine,
Until the end of days.