Sonnet LXVII

Pandora’s Box is sitting on my desk,
an artifact of old once more revived.
Wrapped up in ink and crumpled papers crude,
here darkness thrives, whilst daunting dreams will brood.

I put the Box upon my shelf at night
and let it flaunt and taunt my visions dark.
But still the next day I will take it down
and smother it with smiles, sighs, and frowns.

For therein lies no imp nor beast nor sprite.
Instead - my precious muse, enchantress, light.
And yet, despite my honouring of her,
cruel clouded words peruse the thoughts that were.

But still - within the devils of my work,
remains that Hope that love within her lurks.