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My Box
A box I spy within the sand
Small and brown and worn.
And to the side a battered house...
Perhaps abandoned for the storm?
A ladder leans upon its side, of wood - and painted red.
It's short and old
It's paint now peels
this ladder hanging by a thread
The air is still but yonder seen
A vast and terrible storm
A violent, vicious, raging, dark
Within a desert barely warm
So beautiful
So fiercly bold
That black and shining mare!
It's ribs protrude
The face sunk in
It's starving as I stare
The box right there
The mare beyond
The storm is far and wide
It lurks behind those starving eyes
Reflection from inside
The house not seen
It matters not
I'm really not sure why
This land of sand within my head
Is anything but dry
