Musty boards complain under pressure of weight,












Bones, long ago sucked of their marrow, creak.








Years had trudged by like months of hibernation;








Now the attic awakes with begrudging groans.





Room inhales with sickly moans,







Wind tears through thin walls, in lingering wisps.






Room exhales with heavy ferocity,









Beastly, warm, belligerent, prey stalked inch by inch.
Single window, shadowed with sooty dust,






Looks out to packed cobble roads, thatched roofs







Of an age past. Roof slanted, whole room







Closing in like folded paper. Oppression oozes from cracks,




An out of ground coffin. This grave not one, but many.




Haven to objects obscure, forgotten.









In the heart of the beast rests its prized gem,







A chest, possessor of a treasure itself.
Drained of goodness, honey sucked. Cracking blackened wood,



Missing chunks of meat. Adorned with crude depictions of the fanciful,



Winged creatures of imagination, breathing animals of truth.











Partners in unity, each with an unpolished face, curled horns,



Bent limbs, tucked tails. Beady griffin’s eyes, grumbles of







the lions. Feast upon your fruit. Top sits upon bottom, crooked


Tooth, like door popped from its hinge. Molting ashy feathers,




Iron lock sits squarely upon front, key stuck in, unturned.

No possession was superior, there only was the marriage chest,




Innocence clouded bright eyes, ignorance muddied young mind.


Undeserving of the gifts of gods, she a moth caught to flame.



Fearsomely drawn to the enigma, with prying fingers denied access.



Wondrous, she thought, yet how she longed to peek inside.


From man received murderous glances, forbidden as fruit atop trees.



One night she snuck from her husband’s sleeping form,




And to the box she went, diamond key in hand.






There after Pandora’s box lay to rot away. The only Hope




Rested within, burdened by the weight of the world.