In The Box Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Inspired by Donald Ray

Words read, prove soul lashing,
to darkened mind so young;
brings retching anguish,
release perception's morbid dung;
whip, stone, or spear in hand,
penned verse' double tongue;
word's powers do not lie,
yet truth wrote, exists unsung.

Compassion wields powers,
pen reflects that urge in word;
cognition guides all wrath,
anxiety's sauce echo's gird;
spare token comments,
strike truth by adversity slurred;
take pen's word construct,
not a mortal's thought, absurd.

Intent is to spur a notion,
in mind weak from living's end;
fear a concept,
through deception breeds opinion's trends;
tags of minds unstable,
stamps one's failure to comprehend;
square, of crossed pen stroke,
as suggestion's overextend.

It, is natural then for many,
to fear darkness in the box;
as each being sacrifices limbs,
to escape life's knocks;
mind is what you elect to lose,
rejoin your kin macaque;
rotten, life wasted,
truth in words, will cure your pocks.

Humans yet regard earth's gift,
with malice and disdain;
true natures of the beasts,
seek any, on which to lay blame;
shame of knowledge hides in fear,
thought does proclaim;
accept as weak, the human mind,
our flesh, no longer maim.