GloPoWriMo: Day XXV: That Box in the Corner

There is a small chest that lies
Somewhere in my living room
Always kept, often forgotten
In the corner by the broom

Stained wood and faded polish
Rusty hinges and creaky handles
With drips of white paint
And dried wax from old candles

It is most unremarkable
Which is something quite ironic
Bought as it first was
Because it looks quite iconic

Like something that could hold secrets
Or protect old memories from harm
Now it lies there, half empty
Half full of its original charm

It has those little edges
That scratch me when I lift it
And contents that shuffle
Like wheat when it’s sifted

I can’t quite picture it now
Though I try and I try
Which is ironic for a box
That holds memories gone by