The Box

Talons that take And then come back for more, Slicing up sections And counting the score. My body's a dartboard For daggers and knives. The sun is a countdown Until death arrives. Once knocks the box. Clutches of dragons Sharp, cutthroat and cold, Enduring a lifetime To fold and behold. A mindless conclusion Soft, simple and still; Alone in the dark With no dreams to fulfill. Twice knocks the box. Fingers of mothers And backhands of dads Scraping through flesh Of their lackluster lads. Weave me a basket Blow me a balloon Kiss me away And whisper the word "soon". Thrice knocks the box. With the clouds as my witness And the birds at my side I'll glance back behind me At the tears that I've cried, And I'll see you there knelt By the bald riverside By the box floating softly With a child inside.