Chests

Who are you searching for my young man?

A man with answers atop an iron chest,
whose thoughts are locked away like precious art
or valuable antiquities. Hidden from view.

I need to ask him why i hold those i love to ransoms
they’ll never meet, and why my angles are adrift when
i walk past clean cut glass.

A man with the world walking past him,
not acknowledging his hidden brilliance; his
ability to hold figures.

I need to ask him why i ache when awake,
why i pedal for miles in any direction,
why i can’t centre myself with the universe,
and add the reasons to a growing collection.