by Terrence Aym

Created on: October 10, 2009

The Box

Trapped in this box,
With a wheelless car.
Trapped in this box,
With a shattered star.
Trapped in this box,
It seems awfully plain . . .
Trapped in this box,
I'm going insane.

I awoke one morning to feel myself trapped.
Amongst some piles of debris and scrap.
It so confused me I went back and napped.
When I opened my eyes and peeked out again,
The room was dark, the house terribly quiet.

To my horror I found I'm trapped in this pen,
With no way to escape - but I must try it.

Trapped in this box,
Night and day.
Trapped in this box,
With nothing to say.
Trapped in this box,
Without a lid,
Trapped in this box,
Was it something I did?

Over there in the corner I see a spider,
By a torn paper doll with nothing inside her.
And under a flap some rags and a glider,
By a pinto that's missing its leg.
This box is too dreary and I easily tire,
Too weak to cry or beg,
Just escaping from here is what I aspire.

Trapped in this box,
With an Indian Chief.
Trapped in this box,
Filling with grief.
Trapped in this box,
With a Mexican ballerina,
Who dances the Spanish Macarena.

Lying on my back looking up, out and up.
My legs tucked under a pink pseudo pup.
I feel like crying, or throwing up,
Trapped in this box like a cat in a bag,
My head resting on some tattered old flag,
I might make it out if I were taller and older,
But I'm only a short, painted wood soldier.

Learn more about this author, Terrence Aym.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.