The Box

She ascended those stairs that day, why she did, she could not say.
But reached for that old dusty knob of her attic door insight.
A turn to the knob so gently,
Cautiously she made her entry, entry into the attic that night.

Among cobwebs, dust and in much wonder, a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder,
She lit a small candle to see a bag within her sight.
Inside a dark brown leather sack
Did she find a box so black, as black as it is at midnight.

Her soul jumped, and it was frightening, while she gazed in awe during the lightning.
For in her hands was a black box containing her soul that night.
It was black as the midnight sea,
At her feet she found a key, a key to the box of fright.

In a cold sweat, and with a shudder, she turned the box during the thunder.
She pushed in the key and tried to turn, but the lock was too tight.
But as determined as she would,
She turned as hard as she could, she could with all her might.

She knows she is the key that unlocks her soul that resides in the black box.
Amid the lightning he saw her soul was full of sin that night.
The box full of sins she did,
It was filled up to the lid, the lid of the box that night.

So she took paper and found a pen, and recorded the sins she did often.
Tears in her eyes and sorrow in heart she began to write.
I’m sorry for what I have done,
I never meant to hurt anyone, anyone I have hurt any night.

So among the lightning and what wrote, she opened the box and slipped in the note.
For remission of her sins is what she clearly had insight.
And then she laid her head to rest,
For she knew forgiveness was best, best on this thunderous night.

And in the morning they found a dead girl, with a note and a pen by her hand.
And on the note was written a poem that previous night.
“My heart is the key which unlocks
The deep dark secrets of my box, a box no longer black, but white.”