Many boxes I have stored in a dusty attic,
collect painful memories and piercing loud static.
The attic is not a scary place but one that is forsaken,
I guard it well with tooth and nail petting my trained Raven.
Not often do I visit this place for it is not one of peace,
but when I do I think of you, forgiveness and release.
I store the boxes neatly, stacked in perfect towers.
To open, dust, and readjust would take too many hours.
