Inside The Box

Some days were strange,

Feeling full of repeated

Words, activities, and 

The expected behaviour.

There was no chance,

Whenever it was noticed

To be happening again,

For anything to be done.

As though helplessly,

Meanings eluded actions

And the stillness prior or after

Would never balance it all out.

All the flapping around

Couldn’t have meant less,

As long as at its end

It turned out as designed.

Not many objections made

To cause any real issue,

The few that slipped through

Were surely far between.

Since nothing from inside

Would ever be either good,

Right, or worthy as a response,

Or even considered appropriate.

There seemed to be spectators

To the puppetry on show.

Who, for the price of laughter,

Enjoyed the little entertainment.

But that is how it is for those

Who lived inside the box,

With strings pulled for whatever

Jerks in jest suit observers best.
Ria 2016