The White Box Poem by Sicelo Sithole

In this room, I can only use words as weapons
To buy my freedom at least, so I can ‘run’ away from my summons
I cannot shout or judge here, all my misery is now paved in the art to listen
The voids from the dry valleys are calling me, recollecting all my ways of sin
This is surely a one man stand: there are no folks, not even friends at least
It is only my conscience that pulls me, pulling me away from the law: the ‘beast’