POETRY
The Treasure Chest
Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens: Carl Jung
There lies a box,
Pristine, pretty, tough.
It is warm, fine with a shine;
Sufficient, yet never enough.
It lies awaiting a touch,
A touch of the known —
To take it home,
Away from the drone.
It knows not that it is waiting;
It knows not of its self,
It knows not what it contains;
It only believes the mirror.
It knows not what it wants,
It knows not what it needs;
It knows not why it is,
But it is; it is — or is it?
There lies a box,
Mysterious, marvelous, powerful —
It glows with a radiance
Often felt, but unknown.
One touch to reach,
One touch to teach,
One touch to claim,
One touch to remain.
It believes, unseeing,
It feels, unhearing,
It lives, unquestioning,
And it is — oh, it is!
There lives a box
That knows of many others before,
Burning gold with treasure,
Having found home at last.
