I woke with a cold dread

I woke with a cold dread,

a feeling I thought was dead.

It pulled me back to years ago,

to things I tried not to know.

Under the bed, in the dark deep,

where dust bunnies sleep.

I hid a small wooden box,

full of forgotten locks.

The felt-thick grey guards,

scattered like old shards.

They keep their watch, it seems,

over buried dreams.

What was inside, I can't recall,

but it answered fear's call.

A knot in my gut, tight and small,

behind that dusty wall.