Box Of Memories

Box Of Memories

I shipped a box to Europe,

With memories inside,

Of feelings past and deeper hopes,

I never thought I'd hide.

In this box were artifacts,

And letters which we wrote,

When we were young and sidetracked,

And sailed the seas of life afloat.

Back I think to years gone by,

To days I thought I'd treasure,

Knowing not we'd go awry,

And face a great endeavor.

Her laugh was quite the pleasing sound,

More than a trifle chuckle.

When heard, my heart would leap a bound,

And both my knees would buckle.

Lush green eyes of hers I'd catch,

Whenever she did wink.

Eyes like hers no one could match,

Not ever I don't think!

Her hair was medium in length,

Shining bright and gold.

The sight of it brought inner strength,

A true sight to behold!

Her face was soft and ripe with youth,

And lightly painted features.

Her perfect smile was easy proof,

There was no finer creature!

What a beauty that was she,

Glorious and picturesque.

At a time someone could see,

A picture of her on my desk.

I close my eyes,

And shake my head,

And breathe a sigh,

And frown instead.

I frown to think that once before,

She was my greatest inspiration.

A constant joy to me and more,

Without a single indignation.

The thought of us and what we had,

Truly makes me cry,

Because she thought me all that bad,

And judged me by and by.

She was my first unwritten song,

Which never ceased inside my mind,

A song I searched for, oh so long,

But never thought I'd find.

Now the music's halting, ending,

I simply can't recall the words.

This song of mine has lost its meaning,

In place of it is pain and hurt.

This horrid bitterness controls me,

From the inside out.

I don't know who, or what to be,

Because of all this doubt.

Sadness, anger, woe!

Inflicted on my very heart.

Injected by this single girl,

Who's torn it clear apart.

I gave a once full heart to you,

To do with as you may.

Alas, I was a bitter fool,

And clueless, I convey.

To your fickle ways,

Of shallow implication.

You seemed to say,

I wasn't worth your attention.

On the day you moved away,

I met you near your old wind chime.

Little had we left to say,

Knowing it was time.

When you finally left this place,

You turned and walked into the dawn.

Stepping with a matchless grace,

Until each step of yours was gone.

Now I snap back from the past,

Blinking back the tears.

Reliving shadows being cast,

Feeling somewhat queer.

I live here now all on my own,

Without your sweet embrace.

You moved to Europe all alone,

Your problems yours to face.

I think, wonder, question, anticipate...

Did you receive my package?

Background: "Box Of Memories" is, in essence, my "crowning glory piece." Written in early April of last year, I feel confident in saying that this piece best exemplifies my writing capabilities. During late March of 2010, I had a conversation with a fellow poet pertaining to "epic poems." It was during this conversation that I realized I had not yet written an "epic" piece which involved serious rhyming, meter, depth, or symbolism. I understand that this piece can hardly be called "epic" (for those of you who are unfamiliar with this term in relation to poetry, an "epic" can be translated to: a poem with length which tells a story). Though it is short in relation to actual "epic" poems/stories (i.e. The Canterbury Tales, The Odyssey, The Iliad), "Box Of Memories" is a more lengthy piece for me, hence my reason for calling it an "epic."

I attempted to stick to an Iambic Pentameter, but as you can see, I diverted from this in a few of the stanzas. Although the meter isn't perfect, the rhyme scheme is quite sound (ABAB). The piece is written in first person reminiscent.

I had been meaning to write a short story in poem form for quite some time, and I was pleased to finally accomplish this ambition after being inspired by circumstances between the time frame of late March to early April.

Basics: "Box Of Memories" gives an account of a man who reminisces about a past lover while mourning the recent tragedy which was their downfall. He remembers her physical appearance while taking careful note of her flawless attributes. In the beginning and ending of the poem, a box of memories is mentioned. The box is significant because it symbolizes the love that the man and the woman shared. There are two possible options which the reader may conclude the man is sending the box to his ex-lover.

1.) Sending the box is a final plea for the woman to change her mind and come back to him.

2.) Sending the box is a negative, insightful act to remind his ex-love of the bittersweet romance they shared.

Neither is specified as to prick the imagination so that you might come to your own conclusion. After describing the woman's radiant features, the man details how special this woman was to him. You may notice that the man switches halfway through the poem from talking about the woman, to addressing her directly, as if he is actually talking to her. I did this on purpose to emphasize the man's standpoint. He then goes on to explain that she eventually rejected him due to problematic personal issues which arose between them in the midst of their relationship. He reacts by claiming that he was abundantly foolish to entrust her with his heart in the first place, for she grew tired of him and began ignoring his words of endearment and acts of affection. In frustration and desperation, the woman moves to Europe as a final attempt to distance herself from the man, leaving him to deal with his conflicting feelings of bitterness and admiration.

I very much enjoy writing pieces that end in woeful tragedy. As strange as it may sound, it makes me feel like Edgar Allan Poe... He happens to be one of my favorite poets for those of you who might have wondered. What I truly desired was to write a poem that was touching and sweet, with a surprising yet captivating twist to the end.

This poem embodies the very heart and soul of what I enjoy writing, and I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to read a little piece of me.

Feel free to comment and criticize. I welcome all feedback.

Most sincerely,

~Jacob P. Hartges