The Wishing Box

Sometimes, we leave ourselves behind. This isn't always a bad thing.

pieces of me are buried there

the parts the bled, the parts that dared.

you will not see them, or know them, or care

as they wither and wait in a box 'neath the stair.

but the real trick is that despite the holes in my heart

i have moved on; again i will start

for that which lives is always in motion,

and even hollowed out, we are as vast as the oceans.