Baggage

It sits under the stairs,
too heavy to move
to the attic,
but no less history
for where it lies.

No longer the stuff of adventure,
it holds ancient mysteries
and madness like a poisoned
treasure chest,
Pandora’s insanity,

And yours,
waiting to rise
again.

About this poem

If you’ve fought emotional battles in your life, you know. Most of the time it stays in place. But every now and then…..

Tom