Memory Box

There's a box of memories

I keep beneath my bed.

Inside there is a record,

Of all I've done and said.


My every word and action,

However vile or lewd,

Once shut away inside my box,

Is trapped inside for good.


I never dare to open,

This box so full of dread,

That's strengthened by my darkest fears,

And by my nightmares fed.


But even so I'm powerless,

I cannot stop the tide

Of past mistakes and old regrets,

That flow out from inside.


But what I fear above all else,

Is when it overfills,

When it no longer can be closed,

And the evil overspills.


For then all hope would whither,

All goodness die away.

Then Jekyll would fall to the sword,

And Hyde would hold his sway.


But until that dreaded day should come,

All I can do is pray,

That all the good deeds in my life,

Can all the bad outweigh.


There's a box of memories,

I keep beneath my bed,

Whose evil contents will, I fear,

Haunt me til I'm dead.