Trivial Things (Poem)

Piles of boxes line each wall
A precarious mess, that threaten to fall

Stacks upon stacks of trivial things
Oh, the weighty trouble these boxes bring

Picking my way, so carefully treading
Stepping and stirring, unaware of where I’m heading

These boxes impede and mislead; I despair
I plead to be freed of the cell that we share

The dust takes hold and obstructs my breath
These piles won’t be my last sight before death

I grip at the boxes, pulling everything down
While those trivial things unload and abound

Those dusty boxes, those burdens and fears
Have compiled and swelled in this room through the years

A window, a door, a crack in the wall
I search for my exit, I grapple and crawl

And just when the darkness and dust seems its worst
I find my opening and tumble headfirst

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