The Box

A box; to you and me a cardboard box
But to him a box of dreams
A vessel where he could be all
And everything it seems
A box with sails to float away
A den or hideaway
Or on its end a drum to beat
Or a car in which to play
Or furthermore when painted up
A house or fortress thing
Or a box to make a theatre with
Hosting puppets on strings
A box to build a Tardis with
To fly to far off galaxies
Or make a magic chair out of
So many possibilities
For to you and me a cardboard box
But to him, a small small boy
With imagination on his side
It is his greatest toy

And yet as boy grows old and moves
Into the adult years
The box is just a cardboard box
A vessel that appears
To fulfil its job to fetch and sort
But no-more full of hope
Or adventures, games and challenges
On what is a slippery slope
Into the realms of lost vision
A place called reality
That stifles imagination
Shackles creativity
The box a simple cube of sorts
Where usefulness construes
A practical solution that
Constrains altitude views
And so the box, the simple box
Loses capacity
To open up the world to glance
At all there is to see

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