BoxesA Poem by KrutikaMy thoughts on how we talk about gifts endlessly, but how we fail to see the boxes they come in!She stays in boxes, Yes, I think, she does! In fancy packaged ones with walls, coated opaque even those transparent fragile ones I wonder, why ever bother with the make Custom made, she says when all she ever do, Is make sure they break! Ripped apart or shattered to pieces! Boxes, I think, are nothing special means to be noticed, a false sense of security must be! Or restraints, unwanted an element of surprise maybe! a purpose, purely commercial nothing out of the ordinary! She chortles, her laugh ringing out, an echo, within the box she lies while her voice carries no speck of doubt, a certainty as she chimes, 'Boxes are the only way to make you realize that I am a gift, contained. Like the pockets of air you breathe' © 2017 KrutikaFeatured Review
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Added on June 18, 2017Last Updated on June 18, 2017 Author
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