The Fool

We are the things of life
Our soul grows stronger
Pulsing; running
It flows through our veins and arms
Stronger than the strongest
As fast as any god
Breaking through the surface
Energy spills out from our hands
Music spills out from our minds
We fill this space
Where gravity and matter are just a dream
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I am a box
A container; a unit
Seen often but never opened
Against this wall I sit seeming fickle and unimportant as
people pass me by
But few know.
I am option, I am chance, I am risk
I am new life behind old bones
Or maybe falling darkness over waning light
I hold all your fears; all your dreams
I contain memories long forgotten that have run away from their masters
Behind my lock could be a translucent angel with azure wings
That knows all but laments not
Maybe I have the bane of a thousand men
Brewed from rusted nails, lamps, shadows, and the pure soul of curiosity
Do I have what you seek?
Am I the center of the universe?
Is everything you have been and will be inside of me?
Or is there nothing?
Less than space or void
Without even the figment of a concept of a thought
Is it that what you cannot see cannot be?
When you lose your hope, come to me
I have all that no one ever noticed
I contain all the silent voices
I am the noise that is produced when a tree falls and no one is there to hear it
But I give no vibrations
Nor do I enlighten those who have never touched the sky
Can I be seen?
Does it matter?
I am untouched; unheard
Yet I may hold your dreams
But how would you know?
For
I am just a box