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Tightly Crafted Boxes

We sit in tightly crafted boxes by day

forcing our feral souls to be still.

 

When we leave our daytime offices

for larger, comfier coffins,

the same spirit we once stifled

rips off its chains of productivity

in favor of a rarefied air full of possibility.

 

As we soar without any pretension of advancement

we forget that other life that appears with an overly punctual sun.

 

Through no fault of their own, we fault these day to day doldrums

through bleary red eyes while the true culprit of freedom

waits amongst the thermals until the night breaths anew.

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Written by
paul-r-mott
M / American
Published
Jul 13, 2013
Lines·Words
12·98
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