A man hands you a box
And says, “Inside is exactly what you want.”
So… What’s inside the box?
I’m tempted by the imagination of a gryphon
A young cub named Alastair
I’d raise him as my dear son
All of him, feathers and lion’s hair
I want to say I’d hold a stone
Something rare and precious and small
It needn’t be diamond or pure gold
Just something acquired by answering adventure’s beck and call
Perhaps a key to a mansion, grand
With every room I’ve veer dreamt of
One overlooking ocean sand
In back, roses and an oak grove
Mayhaps a simple timepiece
Fitting in the palm of my hand
Telling me it’s time for tea
Or to devise a whimsical plan
A violin of finest model and make
A guitar of purest tone
One I cannot break
In which my fame will be made known
A weapon I used in a war
Telling my stories with tears
Weeping, I reenact the horror
And bring to life a mother’s greatest fears
A steaming mug of coffee
Taste in purest form
As through my favorite book, I leaf
Out a nearby window, a raging storm
But moreso something you cannot find
Something of my own invention
That I created in my mind
A body’s natural extension
A dozen tickets to the horizon
All the places I’ve never been
Paris, Peru, Glasgow, Dublin
I scarce know where to begin
A license with permission to fly
And keys to wings of my own
A vessel with sail and standard high
Captained by dear friends with which I’ve grown
Or the hand of my dear friend
As we dance and sing under the stars
The way we ought to, before the end
Cancer truly can a child’s heart mar
So what have I in my hand
When I open that sacred box?
Weak at the knees, unable to stand
To decide is to mutiny, to deny is to be kept locked
It’s hard for me to fight
When I’ve got more than I deserve to want
Harder for me to decide
Afraid if I don’t, I give in to daunt
Now in my hand, I hold the thought
I’ll have all this and more, I can live again
Because, in fact, I’ve been bought
By Christ, my dear friend
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