The Box

The Box

A soul that needs no golden locks

To put itself back in the box

Anticipations outer touch

Can simply seem to be too much

 

Windows reflections they will blind

Thoughts of different in your mind

The recollections they are directions

To the inner soul’s deflections

 

Ninety degrees multiplied by four

Add some height up past the door

Fasten the door up really tight

To block out all that outer light

 

Shutout the ears without the tears

To block out sound to last the years

Close your eyes and memorize

The visions of your new disguise

 

Visions of a different scene

Sometimes are really only dreams

Looking thru those windows seem

To conjure up an unattainable regime

 

 So put the soul back in the box

And fasten down those inner locks

Perhaps it’s good to leave the window

While the mind just sits in its limbo

 

Acceptance it is a brand new step

To keep the heart from what is left