Guardians of Grail

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What do people keep in their storage sheds? Are there shovels and rakes? Are there cookies and cakes? What secrets lie beneath those plastic or boarded-up doors? The rusty latch may not have budged for decades. Perhaps it is the family [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] secret waiting to be seen. Perhaps it is the family skeleton waiting to scream. Storage sheds hold our lives, in some subtle way. They can hold our dreams or hold our fears or the things we want taken away. We cannot get rid of them, but we do not want them to stay. So, for [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] each person, storage sheds become the way.
They come in all [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] sizes, all shapes and all colors. They can be the dark brown of the forest or the red paint that was once your brothers. When old, it is a cold, damp place. But when young those storage sheds are a magical place. Full of mystery, full of dreams, on rainy days you crept up and peered through those cracking seams. Now that you are grown it is a place of the seldom used or disposed. Not always, but often, it houses those things that once held merit but are now nothing more than your cheap shoes and forgotten clothes.
But the sheds remember, no, how could they ever forget? They once were the castle or the high fort [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] in which you would sit. It was a priceless piece of your childhood moments. Oh, how those little buildings could hold so much.
Fast forward now, the grey has come, the play is done. Those rubber boots have been in the corner for years. The [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] sounds are now never heard which were once music to your fledgling ears. It is a different world, a different time, a different place for you. Thoughts of that place and that space, now a different person has taken over you. [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] No sense of wonder, where did it go? Remember when that shed held your greatest of shows. No TV, no lights, just an egg crate was [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] enough. For on that crate, the plays you could create [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] put the greatest of playwrights to shame.
A world apart now, just a simple building, not a glimmer of the starlight watched on cold evenings below the tin roof. You let out a sigh, the night draws nigh, and you sit and press the power button. Instead of power you feel beat down, hypnotized, aloof. No imagination, just a rake holder, just a mower, just a smelly old barn. Just, [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] that word can steal the hope. Just a lie, we keep spinning our yarns.
Forgotten, remembered, but only perspective has changed. We once called it a palace, now it [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] would be silly for it to have a name. So we make it ubiquitous, we make it benign. To attach to such foolishness would now be just folly of mind. So it ages and so do we. It fills up, we fill up, and we draw closer to it once again. Neither notices but both experiences and then it all becomes clear. For the things that brought us apart will now [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] draw us near. Those things that filled [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] us meant time was behind us and age would set in soon. Until that point when nothing more [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] can fit and we sigh from the lack of room. As you lay down, you remember, this is how in those storage sheds you used to lay. [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] And to the ground you will both return, not different, but [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] in the very same way.
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