Today’s guest post comes from Hailey. Hailey is 17 years old and the oldest of six children. She has always had a passion for writing, and is currently working on her first novel. When she isn’t writing, she can be found reading, playing the piano, or enduring long homeschool days with her family.
I am a little music box who once had melodies inside.
And in my dark, cold corner, I contentedly hide.
I watch people as they come and go, busy with their day.
I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me, and I quite like it that way.
My carved wooden lid is covered with a fine, gray layer of dust,
And if one looked at my hinges, they’d see a small spot of rust.
So you see, I have no value since my wood no longer shines.
So I sit and watch and listen in this dark little corner of mine.
Once a small girl pointed, asking, “Grandfather, what’s that?”
And the old man stood and picked me up off the shelf where I had sat.
His hands left dark fingerprints on my fine dust-covered self.
I very much wanted to return back to my little shelf.
The small girl cried “Gross!” and she wrinkled up her nose.
My cheeks would have surely blushed if I had two of those.
The old man smiled and set me down upon the little girl’s knees.
She said, “Grandfather, it’s all dirty. Put it back. Please!”
I listened to the hurtful words and could not agree more.
I don’t like being seen in my state, not as beautiful as before.
I knew I was not pretty, so no need to remind.
This why I had liked my shelf. There was no one to be unkind.
Grandfather lifted me with tender hands, and then picked up a cloth.
Very gently he wiped me down, and thoroughly cleaned me off.
“Do not judge,” he then said, “by the cleanliness of its lid.
Its worth lies, rather, deep inside. Its beauty has been hid.”
He went back to my little shelf and there retrieved a key.
I remembered that it had once fit inside a lock on me.
He turned the locked and lifted my lid, which opened with a creak.
Then the man and the girl just stared. Neither one would speak.
“What do they see?” I wondered. “When will the old man say
What it is that gives me worth? Would he tell already? Today?”
Though for years I hadn’t moved, I grew impatient soon.
I shifted some, and a small “ting!” was heard around the room.
I stopped. Had I made that sound? I thought that I had.
I looked up at the grandfather, but he looked a little sad.
“Perhaps it’s too old or broken,” he sighed with a frown.
Then, as I had first wanted, he finally set me down.
But no longer was I content being just a dusty, old square.
I had made that small, clear sound, and I felt something there–
There, where the sound had come from, somewhere deep within.
A purpose, a talent, something great. Something I had once been.
I tried again to make the sound, and though it did exhaust,
I was determined now to find what it was I had lost.
One gear turned, and then another, and then I was afraid.
What if this wasn’t my purpose, or why I had been made?
But I kept trying, and all gears moved, and then I heard the “ting!”
Quiet it was, but really quite clear, as around me it did ring.
I made the sound and then once more, and then it was a tune.
The melody was simple, but inside I felt it bloom.
It had been there all those years as I sat alone on my shelf.
I never knew what I could do because I was afraid of myself.
What I’d become, what I might do, and even what others would say.
Finally I arose to the challenge, and my night grew light as day.
Now I always play for others, and melodies fill the room.
I’ve found a purpose on rainy days, when my songs dispel the gloom.
I thank grandfather and the little girl, though my choice brought me here today.
For people can try to unlock us, but only we can play.