Geometry Box

Truth lies beneath the tin lid
Of a man who laboured and toiled,
Spent hard-earned money
Not on food, not on clothes,
But me.

Secrets lie beneath the tin lid,
A language ridden with jargon,
Slowly strangling my mind,
Numbers, measurements, letters
Perplexing me.

Memories lie beneath the tin lid,
Forgotten wounds sear like a razor cut,
Tears that fell many years past
Prickle my eyes like hedgehogs again,
I reminisce.

Tin box now dented, dilapidated, decrepit,
But objects inside surprisingly alive,
Unlike he who bestowed it upon me.