just thoughts 

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poet707747


 Boxes

All kinds of decorative boxes lined up all along my life's pathway;
Each full of groups of people, good people.
Categorized by their box, traveling from one to another;
Each full of friends and acquaintances, each with it's own set of rules.

Some are ruled by dogmas and creeds, others by patriotic bindings;
From school colors, to right speech; each are designed to control society.
Occasionally comes a renegade, one who cannot be contained in boxes;
Ostracized, he wanders the pathway with freedom, with creativity, with loneliness.

“I don't need no stinking boxes” he shouts to the heavens;
“I don't need no thought police.” Yet freedom comes with a cost.
Few are those who walk in this life without walls, without protection;
But of those who do, I find in them a brother, a fellow sojourner.

How do I know right from wrong without the boxes? or are these simply judgments.
How could society be controlled? It would be anarchy, you may say.
Some have spent lifetimes in prisons for shedding their boxes,
While others live on the fringes of society.
Without convention, without regulations… innovative, creative, fully open
to the flow of the present moment.

Patterns in poetry, rhythms of thoughts and emotions sent from pen to soul.
Unable to contain the meaning in mere definitions, as the words drip feelings
like blood from an open wound.
That blood flowing outside it's box of the body, falling to the dust on the ground;
Freedom comes not without cost…
Freedom to be…
Freedom to create…
Freedom's bell tolls in my soul… Outside the boxes… roaming the earth uncontained.

12Aug10


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