A flower will die without light. I am a flower trapped inside a box. Life is a desperate struggle, a fight. I live without the water. I live without the light.
Life is one big contest, To see whom can come out ahead.
But a flower trapped inside a box, Will only end up dead. Well, this is a miraculous little poem because in speaking for yourself you are also speaking for me, and, I suppose, many other people in between, most of whom will probably never read it. All this, and a nice cadence and rhyme as well, for you haven't forgotten that a poem is a song and that certain things are so serious they can only be sung in order to make them communicable and bearable. By this time you have me hooked. Maybe I pretend to myself that I am behind the wheel as I drive along the road of life, but when I read stanza 3 of your poem I feel as if I've been deceiving myself.