The Box Poem by S.W. Clark

Squared, secured, secret solemn,
the box was the place to hide
though taunted and titillated
and moving was tough
no one heard when I cried.
It was marked with goodness
and looked on as perfection
where none could criticize.
But my thoughts were outside
desiring the freedom
though lost in a chasm of lies.
These walls have held in faith and fame
hid my love and dreams
For what I could be was packaged away
my reflection I saw, it seems.
Wish my escape and pull my soul, just
say the words and I will change.