The Box in My Hands

THE BOX IN MY HANDS
by Paul Petersen

I beheld a box in my hands,
From whence it came I cannot tell,
Exquisite, new and bright.
It held two jewels, precious and fine.

Awake again and before me still the box,
More precious stones appear,
Bright, radiating, brilliant, cherished.
Glowing is the box,
Full of joy, wonderment, newness

A shock, a jolt a slam to my hands,
I beheld my box,
A void, a space now empty,
A large stone has vanished.
Some brilliance of my box is lost.

Where did my stone go?
Why was it taken?
Anger, sorrow, loneliness,
It is irreplaceable.

Aftershocks, jolting, shaking,
More stones disappear,
Why must this happen?

Yet, I see a few new ones trying to fill...
Some space?
What is the meaning of this?
The box is far from full,
I see room in the box.

Stones departing, stones coming...
The box a little tarnished, a little stained.
Promise lies in the stones and in the box.
A cleaning, an effort, a restoration,
I beheld the box, it shined and it's jewels sparkled.

I beheld the box in my hands,
Distance, time, new horizons
More gems added
Rough, but now shining

Joy, splendor, happiness,
All stones beam with brightness,
A new arrival, the grandest of them all.
Brightest, clearest, purest...
Radiates in glory, complements,
Brings out the character and the beauty of the box

Old stones, gems fall out,
Then over time more grand ones arrive,
They compare in beauty to the grandest,
A part of its glory shows in them,
They fill the box and bring immense joy.
They gladden the eye and please the heart,
They are carefully guarded and cared for.

Still, again I behold the box,
What is the meaning?
How long will it remain?
So many treasures contained within.
Are there more gems to come?

What of those that left?
Whence were they taken?
Why did they find a place in my box?
For a time they were there
Will they return?
Are they lost forever?

Who is the maker of the box?
He is an excellent craftsman.
Mysterious, perfect, loving?
I think so, but what of the box?
Is it important to the crafter?

What purpose will it have?
To hold stones, is that all?
To cherish them, until they go away.
How I miss the gems of the past.
How I long for the joy of new gems.
Words cannot express

I look at the box...
I study the box with its stones
The stones have made it what it is
The box, though exquisitely crafted...
Is a mere container...
An empty thing... without the precious stones.

Hope.
May the stones always remain.
May the radiance of their being,
Strengthen the box, and its holder.
I look at my hands, I see more than a box.
I see the hope of a brighter day.
A process, eternal.

I am thankful for the box.
May I present it,
Filled with the brightest of stones,
To the one who placed it in my hands
Without my knowing.

May I be blessed to retain the stones,
May those that were taken or lost,
Be restored because I loved them,
And because they were at one-time mine,
To make my box bright again.
Forever.