Letter Box

Mail Box

Mail Box

This old box stands in memory

of who we were. I remember often

running to drop my treasured

envelope into it, I opened the

awaiting abyss drawer, so deep

I shuddered wondering where

and how far my letter would travel.


Would it be alone, on the bottom?

while others piled upon it and lost

it buried forever only to be retrieved

by the kind mailman’s gathering bag,

or would it float atop pile high mixed

feelings, sad, earnest, love, peaceful

letters waiting to find its recipient

so far away or maybe close by.


The paint is peeled and faded,

a lonely iconic box, holding memories,

from so many peoples and races,

they felt compelled to write, to seal,

stamp and run to this box, fearing

being too late for pickup, yet

knowing that no matter what, their

letter would eventually reach them

the reader.


Comforting words to many, a letter

was the kindest, sincerest way to

convey one’s feelings, the tone, the

language, the importance of expressing

heart rendering, though words may be

lost in translation, they were important

to the reader, the battle worn soldier

waiting for news from family and friends,

a shut in bed ridden victim of sickness,

tears heavy on their paled cheeks

waiting to read their only connection

to the outside of heaven or hell’s gate.


Now a victim of history, it’s slow demise

to the digital rapid wireless world,

this box is a conveyor of so

many thoughts, it received us

without any questions asked,

it simply opened up its lid allowing

us to fill it with so many messages

it took into it’s soul, it never failed us,

it never criticized our content, it kept

our secret messages safe, private

and sound, awaiting the early truck

to empty it and move its soul contents

to all recipients near and far.


So many faded letters I have

as cherished memories of

deliverance from this box,

its faithfulness never faltering,

weathering all storms, it stood tall,

erect and always ready to

receive and deliver on time.


I now sit, untie the ribbon of

precious memories before me,

though faded; these letters

were received with love.

Thank you big red for receiving

them and finding me, I am alive

but for these letters that my love

wrote to me before she passed,

the ink smudged, her perfume

still lingers on their pages,

oh my love, you are missed,

but thankfully I hold you close

to my bosom, these letters fill

me so and I remember receiving

each and every one of them,

my days and nights fulfilled with

your sweet memory.


© Copyright Vincent Moore. All Rights Reserved

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