The Box

You put me in your box
And so here I am.
I will not call it living
For life is hope and I have none.
If I care to, which is seldom,
I can trace back the events that
Put me here
A chain of events forged in war,
At which I am at the end.
It can be a short length or long
A simple link or two
Wrought of greed, and fear,
Perhaps there is a strong link of hatred...
Yes, these are strong bonds and common
That imprison both you and me,
Although today and at this moment
I am on the inside
And you do hold a key.
 
You control my day
With food and light and heat
Noise and water and words
Which are blessings from god
That have become the terrible tools of man,
Used to make me fear
And hate
And abandon hope.
 
And so on this day when
I can no longer hate
Or hope,
The last morsel of will
That I control
Chooses to die,
And so I become the last gift
To my self
Wrapped in this terrible box.