Shoeboxes

This shoebox is full of all my old things Faded photographs, Christmas cards and rings All the letters you wrote, candle wax & a silver stone Here’s a piece of The Wall, a Polaroid of us all Is that who we are? Just shoeboxes full of our rise and fall From baby shoes to funeral songs From where lipstick stains to where ashes fall This shoebox lid is taped and torn Water stained from where it is was stored A house for ghosts, a jail for bones A playground for stories and cemetery stones Is that who we are? Just shoeboxes full of our rise and fall From baby shoes to funeral songs From where lipstick stains to where ashes fall Broken mirrors and tattooed tears A lock of your hair, the chain you would wear All I have left is a piece of your dress However small It’s who we are Just shoeboxes full of our rise and fall From baby shoes to funeral songs From where lipstick stains to where ashes fall It’s who we are Just shoeboxes full of our rise and fall