The Shut Chest
A chest, shut by weak, half-torn straps;
Straps, striving to keep shut the chest,
Yet threatening, all the time, to lose their integrity.
What good is a shut chest? What can it contain, give out?
Can it receive new things? Can it distribute its old?
No. Such a chest can only be stepped on:
Others can use it to see greater heights,
Its self can see none.
The straps weaken by the day;
Yet their pressure never eases.
Can the chest break free?
Throw open all doors, add meaning to its being?
Explore what it really is, and what it can be?
No. Never! For then the poor straps are ripped apart.
And, after all, they are a part of its being.