Was once bright red, the metal box was born
As time goes on, brown specks of dust have made a home.
With no human touch, the dust has remained
The handle laid down, eager to stand again.
Kept in a room full of potential creation
The box sits amongst others just like itself.
Concrete floor, cold with no light
Although there are windows that used to be bright.
Lifting the handle, interrupting the dusts rest
The contents shine as if waking their eyes again.
Any item used to build and destroy
Depending on the hand which reaches inside.
Memories collide with structures once built
I wonder if they remember as well.
I’m sorry for leaving you alone for so long
Wipe your eyes and I shall create with you once more.