There is a table with a chair that I have sat upon.
On the table there’s a candle and a small wooden box.
I watch candlelight reflect upon the wood and lose time
As I ponder what would happen if I should pick its locks.

I feel lost within this limbo of curiosity.
There is a war of willpower going on in my mind.
I know I shouldn’t force the lid of the box wide open
Or am I just over analyzing what I may find?

I am afraid of my own personal Pandora’s box.
What if I step closer and I feel pain that I can’t handle?
I want to open the lid and see what is inside there.
Would I see fits of laughter or rage lit by the candle?

I will not gamble with my heart and risk Pandora’s fate
Even when I could amuse myself with contemplation.
I’ll sit on the chair that was never mine to begin with,
Then divert my eyes from the rectangular temptation.

How come even when I close my eyes I am so haunted…
Making me want to beg for the knowledge this box doth keep?
I’m torn in different directions but know the better path…
Box unopened; will its contents be whispered in my sleep?