The Little Box

The Little Box
​

I was raised in a little box

in which there was a God

who spent his time reading my thoughts

and threatening me with death

if he and I did not agree.



I was taught

to fear this God

and hate my life

to which I readily complied;

because heaven was real,

I had been told,

and all else is just a lie.



I was told time and time again:

'Pray to God, when times are tough',

and pray and pray I did;

but all I heard was just my voice

and life itself was rough.



Finally I had enough and cried:

'there is no God inside the box',

so I kicked the jams,

and picked the locks.



Stepping out, to my surprise,

it wasn't bad at all.

There were horizons far,

and pleasures too,

and once outside I burned that box

and bid it all adieu.

 

pretty good man, i can relate to what you're saying; when I discovered my own beliefs on the subject, rather than just accepting imposed beliefs, things got much better.

One note on the poem, the line "and life itself was rough" doesn't really fit in there, sounds like it's there maily for the rhyme. I mean, you already said you're praying when times were tough, so it's not only out of place but redundant. Besides that little point, I like this a lot.

 

Thanks for the comment. You're right on both counts. Redundant and in there for the rhyme. I just was having fun with it as these were thoughts that were on my mind at the time.

Dave