My pieces swim around mirthlessly. I say I am homeless, but really, my life is in a box, my home is in a box. My home is a box.
I hear of those in prison cells. Every person is left inside a box. Each of us makes his own box. Mine is cardboard, yours is brick, hers is padding, his is cinderblock, and hers is a cow hide tent that loves to act like a box. All of us are restrained by our boxes. Our boxes keep us from doing what our spirit wants us to do.
One time I was in a room with many people and I felt my box literally disappear. I thought I might be leaving earth, perhaps dying. But I didn’t die. My box came back. My box is consistent and my box always comes back.
Today, I will look for a special blanket. I’m looking for forest green, or perhaps army green. When I find it, I’ll know it. It will soften the box so much, the box will fly away as dust.
I need a home, something like a pine box with a mattress. I see the box every day, but I never see a home. With a home, I might recover.
If I walk alone, down the haunting, overbearing hallway, with my hands clasped and my head bowed, will all of the shit fly above my head and swirl around like tornadoes in the high-peaking, diamonded ceilings with little receptacles? The hallway is my home where my gods speak loudly and tell me to be me. It is a special box. They tell me there is value to living. I need no bed in my hallway. I need no sleep. The portals in my hallway have no windows, so I breathe in the good of the world and as I exhale, I share it with the gods who help me live today. I see beautiful flowers in thousands of colors and gentle pathways when I look out of a portal, and when I smile, I can feel my gods smile. They do – They smile. I float about my box and I wait for someone who might need my help.
It’s Inspiration Monday IX at BeKindRewrite. Lots of great work over there and I love the prompts.
#1 by Kay Camden on April 26, 2011 - 10:39 pm
I love the rhythm of the first one. But I was lost in the third. The writing is great, but I’m really dense. I have to have everything spelled out for me. That’s why you’re a poet and I’m not. 🙂
#2 by Carl on April 26, 2011 - 10:57 pm
Thank you, Kay. There is nothing about you…When I go off to dream land, I have troubles making sense! 🙂
#3 by Kay Camden on April 26, 2011 - 11:29 pm
Your dream land sounds wonderful. In my dream land, we’re getting bombed. Trade you! Haha..
#4 by carldagostino on April 27, 2011 - 5:48 am
The blanket is a form of box, eh ?
#5 by Carl on April 27, 2011 - 9:08 pm
Yes. It is not an internal tool, but it might get rid of a more harmful box?
#6 by Life: Between the lines on April 27, 2011 - 11:56 am
It was interesting. It totally pulled me in Carl 🙂
#7 by Carl on April 27, 2011 - 9:10 pm
Thank you for commenting. I appreciate it!
#8 by bekindrewrite on April 28, 2011 - 9:11 pm
I’m with Kay; a lot of this is over my head. But it’s so beautiful. “f I walk alone, down the haunting, overbearing hallway, with my hands clasped and my head bowed,…” The rhythm is so strong. It’s so beautiful, it aches.
#9 by Carl on April 28, 2011 - 11:57 pm
Thank you for your comment. I appreciate your time with it
#10 by Janel on April 29, 2011 - 11:22 am
I felt very much like a voyeur in someone else’s thoughts with these pieces, beyond just 1st person POV. Kind of like intruding in a dream. Very nice!
#11 by Carl on April 29, 2011 - 8:36 pm
Thank you for your comment. I like that you had that feeling though it was not necessarily a primary intent. That’s very interesting to think about.
#12 by MyWordsWhisper on April 29, 2011 - 5:41 pm
…”Every person is left inside a box. Each of us makes his own box. Mine is cardboard, yours is brick, hers is padding, his is cinderblock, and hers is a cow hide tent that loves to act like a box. All of us are restrained by our boxes. Our boxes keep us from doing what our spirit wants us to do…”
Wow..your writing is so full of food for thought. I had to read this several times. I really like it.
#13 by Carl on April 29, 2011 - 8:37 pm
Thank you for your comment. I really appreciate your kindness.