Poetry

The Box

By Wallace - 7 March 08

Saturate, separate
Ideas and thoughts pieces to the clandestine key
Words that alienate
Not designed to instigate
Not written to please

Is it a crime to be blunt outside?
Ripping, tearing at the cracks
Existing without color inside
Immersed in blacks

Stuff us in this little box
Because we won't sing along
We'll never belong

We look out from a place you can't see
No-one here for company
But the shadows and sadness with us
Waiting to be freed

Are we the light when all is gone
The faith that right can become wrong
An onyx flame engulfing all
As a song trumpets a battle call
Leading to the fall

Are we the ones you want to fear
What makes us something to hate
Open up the box
To quickly peer inside
Releasing those within who hide:
Death, hope and disease