The Box

Scroll down to content

I am

In a frosted box

Looking out

Finger tips touching

At versions

Of I am,

The ones who

Play the games

Of work niceties,

Bills and things.

Now and then

For a second,

Just one or two,

A light shimmers,

Warming the walls

Of this box,

Making them bend.

And I reach

Out,

Searching for the softness

Of a hand

I once held.

Unknown's avatar

Published by Pete D Johnson

A place to explore my creativity, talk about my experiences of mental health and just vent. Quick sketches when the mood takes me.

One Reply to “The Box”

  1. I really like your poem. I wrote a poem when I was only 13 yrs old. I didn’t realize it was about death. Its .caled untitled poem. I love this poem. My brother was killed in Vietnam in 1968 only 18 yrs old. What a loss. Then in 1988 my older sister was killed my her 19 yr old son. He stabbed her to death 40 times. Another loss for my poor mom. I’m the only one left. I feel your pain. Keep in touch. God bless

    Reply

Leave a comment