Friday, June 25, 2010

POEMS OF THE ROUGH TIMES: The box is gold

The box is gold
and satin-lined,
its limits wide
its contours kind.
Within its walls
I lie confined.

It doesn't mean
to be a cell
How wicked I
to see it hell.

I know my role--
to keep control!
I'll lose my self
but save my soul.

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