We build them with fears and tears and consternation…
With low expectations and bargain basement confidence…
Then seek counsel to escape the woes we find within,
That bounce off the walls, while the pity party rages.
We look askance at the cardboard box of the dirty man under the bridge.
His is real, seen; ours looms, unseen, in our mind.
But it’s Home, nevertheless, to the “I can’ts” and “becauses” and lost causes;
For the secret dreams not yet reality,
and For the secrets we bear
that have shackled us to the floor of Our cardboard box.
How long before we realize that we built this thing,
And we can tear it down.
And that God is not responsible, nor the economy, nor the President;
Nor all her men or women, nor the kids, not even the spouse.
Oh to throw away the cardboard key to the cardboard house,
and Let the rain take care of the lost causes and “becauses”,
And to discover…
There is no box outside the Box.
...Just blue sky.