Echo of a soul, a song, of what was lost and long forgotten

I found it there
The music box was alone,
in the attic
Its wood carvings almost hid its lid
But i let my fingers find the edge
The music box was forgotten
In a land of dust
I lift the lid,
A solid click announced the box back to life
The small mechanisms turns

With that the song plays,
distorted and slowed
by the passing of time
Its muses chilled my soul
Consumes even  me
I feel it take from me
something, I can no longer remember
A lost part of my memory
Leaves a hole in my soul
That yearns to be once more whole
So hard it hurts

I can't close the lid
The Melody demands my attention
A payment for its incarceration
It slows even more as the last winds
In its clockwork heart begin to fade
A slow death of sublime beauty

I awake, to find that that the songs sadness
Never truly left my soul, I feel broken
Lost, aged passed remembrance
I feel forgotten to the sands of time
Withering under the dust.
For that moment I am the music box
Sitting waiting, to play my last notes
Wanting to at last be hared
Until my clockwork heart dies
I will feel the winds of the ticks
moving in the Echos of the song

-Andrew Haught

First draft really but it is by me and I need a blog, so I posted my latest poem. Hope its does not have too many mistakes, Ill come back latter to edit this when its not 4:30AM. But when the mind works it works who am I to say no.