The first box of society is the family, were born into, the box referred to as home, where we are made and broken. Willingly kept within four lines, that we’ve been conditioned of what boundaries, can and will not be crossed.
The box which some are chained to, and held down by, invisible weights of grudges and discontentment by those who claim to love and pray for them.
The box is decorated with wallpaper of dismay, woven into regrets, memories smeared with scenes of artificial love, and what at the time, could not be seen for what it was “EMPTY REVERE”.
Although the body can leave the box, and sometimes it does, the spirit can be trapped there. Waiting for redemption from those who built the box, whom have been held in such esteem.
Addicted to the box, and all its weariness, the spirit so close to submerging, sinking in the tears. Yet never quite losing the last breath of air, wherein hope can be found, to be set free.
For the rectification to the situation comes from the Lord above. The box can be left behind, if you let it go, for it’s only seen in the midst of your soul.