Lucky

    Under the guard rail the three-legged rabbit hopped, turning aside to keep a straight path, his nose twitching uncontrollably. His furry legs and bushy tail camouflaged him in the patches of grass and gravel along the interstate. The cars covered him in a fine dust, and the semis scared the shit out of him. His mouth was slightly agape, and his large child like eyes, under brows like fluff balls, stared straight ahead. He hopped onto the interstate, quickly becoming a red smear on the asphalt. A Ford F150 had gotten a hold of our furry hero, squishing him without care. For this rabbit had been unlucky.

box

So there is this box.
Like a real one, not the kind that you think outside of.
And in this box there is a man: A very poor, rugged, dirty man.
And in this man there is a soul – A very dank and melancholy soul.
And in the darkness there is light – Bright, searing light.
And in this light there is color – Brilliant, beautiful color.
And in the beauty there is nature – Living, breathing nature.
And in the breath there is life – hopeful, fantastic life.
And in the hope there are children – Playful, young children.
And in the youth there is ignorance.
Yet in the ignorance there is understanding.
And in that understanding there are viewpoints.
And in the view points there is a difference.
And in the difference there is disagreement.
And in the disagreement there is a wall.
Walls form squares.
Squares form boxes.
Do boxes form man?