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The Glass Box

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I'm in the field,
When I see the glass box,
In the shadow of the oak tree,
And blindly stumble in.

When I try to get out,
There is no door,
No people,
And no light.

I can see the world outside,
Only it isn't illuminated by the sun.

In the shadow of the oak tree I stay,
Quickly turning my eyes away from the rest of the world.

It's gone until the morning I wake up,
Hearing the tree beginning to creak and lean,
Threatening to fall.

Then I realize,
I'm still here inside the glass box,
And there's another world,
Outside the shadow of the tree.

I scratch at the box,
Finding the door,
And pushing it open.
There is the sun, shining once again.

I run from the box and its tree,
Running further than I ever have before.
I pass other boxes, with other people inside,
Where they sit in the shadows of their own trees, unaware of the sun.

One day, I might try to break others out of their boxes,
But I have to get away from mine first.
I'll gather them like cattle, showing them them the world,
Outside the glass box.

Years later, I'll go back to my box,
And find it shattered beneath the oak tree.
Under it will be a lifeless man,
Laying in the remnants of the glass box.

I can't help but think,
I might have been that man,
Beneath the shadow of the oak tree
Trapped inside the glass box.





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