This box will behold

The powerful lingering scent of blooming lilacs emerging through the damp compost
The keen eye of a hawk as it circles above me amidst the wispy clouds
The magnificence of a lone cataract hidden in the depths of the wild
Its frigid waters tumbling down its rocky face composed from molten lava

This box will behold

The spirit of a casual game of chess in the heat of summer
The mystery of a novel that is clutched by my fingers as I leaf amongst the worn pages
The eagerness of a sprinter's heart pounding rhythmically in his chest as if it were a metronome
His fingers twitching as he waits for the gun to proclaim the start of yet another race

This box will behold

The rush of excitement a young bird feels when his petite feet first imprint the silky snow
The flattering notes that waltz joyously out of the vintage grand piano
The sooting remedy of a mother's compassionate words
Floating lovingly from her mouth one by one

This box will behold

My incessant love for imperfection
The way the rusted park swings creak when the wind weaves its way through
And the moment of peaceful silence
When the sun initially creeps its way over the peaks of the majestic mountains
Its presence calling the world awake

My box is fashioned from hopes, dreams, and aspirations
Its is bound together with withered wicker from the elder willow
While its hinges are crafted from the emerald of flawless leaves suspended elegantly in the air

I shall visit my box
In my dreams while I sleep
Returning every night to fill it to the brim with new masterpieces and plans
For it shall never be too small to hold them all