We live in large boxes,

Watch bright light boxes,

Walk with smart boxes in hand.

And,

Obsessed,

We finish

In oblong boxes

At our end.

We spend

All our time out of sync,

Pretending to think

Outside the box,

When we’re trapped all along.

The shape’s all wrong.

We try stuffing God

In a box,

Because we can’t fathom

The vastness,

The depth of His lightness.

His likeness,

It must be a circle,

A symbol eternal,

A continuing place,

An infinity eight,

An endless end,

An overlapping begin.

Our boxes, we’ve known all along,

The shapes all wrong.

It’s not where we

Or God

Belong.