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This Box That I Live In

This box that I live in
no longer fits my need.
For corrugated reasons
I plead to find release.

Rain is my enemy ~
wet and discontent.
Limply it surrounds me
as my life is spent.

Wind blows through my open soul.
In it comes and off I go.
Across the streets of impending doom.
I longed for stability in a wooden room.

Many trees gave their heart ~ their pulp,
so I could live in sheltered solidity.
I wept ~ I yearned
I tried to be ~
thankful for the house surrounding me.

But all in all I like trees growing forest~tall.
Penthouses that reach to caress the sky.

Here is my theory on my needs.
Let trees rest and give me steel ~
With eyes of glass
that show me what is real.

In the sky, way up high,
I'll shine and shimmer
the sun will glimmer.

Far below on streets of sin,
the cardboard box that I once lived in,
will go away in a dumpster truck.
I'll flash a smile and wish it luck.
Because I have found steel structures sound.
Repelling rain and wind aloft.

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