I hold a casket,

I hold a casket,

As bountiful as a promise

Of sunshine in July

Ripened and fruitful

Tended by hummingbirds

Locked up tight

Against the harshness

Of winter,

Ready to be opened

Bursting with bounty

To be shared

If I can find the key.

It is currently available

Within the cowl

Of my domain

The fear of unguarded loss

Is tantamount,

Commensurate with

Expiration.

The emptiness

The cold touch of it

The sheer blankness

Of vacancy

The hollowness of vacuity

The uselessness of space

An insignificance

Too easily

Brushed away

As so much dust.

Dispatched

With a stiffened besom,

Scratched and torn

With little value.

Shapeless and splintered,

An outcast left to rot

Uncared for

An absence of trinkets,

Without ornament.

Bri-a-brac

Biometric memorabilia

Stolen by stealth,

As much use as a box

Without a key

Which is of no real use at all,

To anyone.