PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have recieved a box today: the perfect shape, a decent weight, unsoiled,

concise, clear-cut. What a box to behold. What a trap to unfold. I rest this

object against my heart, in my arms, close to my breath. What a thing I do

not want. I return it. The perfect little box I do not want.

Looking over at the other doorsteps, it is evident that the neighbors

are enchanted by their box. Though I do not believe they know, all of

the boxes are the same. I first feel pride to no longer be in ownership of the

parcel. Oh, how rewarding it is to see everyone with it and me so free from

the foolishness. The exact same box everywhere. The pride fades slowly. I

do not have room for a box, nor do I want something so commonplace.

Yet, I do not have one and the others do.

I begin to think; who now has the box? I wonder if the person in possession

will treasure it as greatly as those around. What an elaborate lie to succumb

to. Their infatuation will never last. They are filling gaps in their houses to the

point of clutter. That is not for me. My rooms are indefinite, without gratuity

blocking the walkway. They are spaceless. Spaceless and empty.

Although I want nothing more than to elate in the enlightenment, I do not. Others

believed in the hoax, found meaning in it. I found meaning meaning in unveiling it.

And now, I do not.

Oh, how the ambiguity howls to me at night. I want to be decieved. I crave it;

I need it. But, no amount of scavenging through post offices will lead me to it.

I try, only to never find. I will not recieve the box. The perfect little box I did not want.

I, instead, recieve a search and a desire. The choice to reject familiarity and to

exist entirely in the pursuit is the wasteland I am left to wander, with a barren walk,

and a never-ending step. The box is lost and so is the journey. This is my plight.