Sticks-a-dozen by chance collide

Metaphorically making a box to hide

Abstracted distractions of imaginary space

Where the views transparently clear

Through these walls we shape around us

To shelter us from our fear

~

Though this box a cell when not a vault

And the combinations given by default

When sticks and bars are the same

The outside’s kept out and inside kept in

And nothing’s ever lost or found

When there’s nothing ever within

~*~

Sck072815