From within a box of meager attitude
an ornate, little orb of glistening platinum emerges
slowly, intuitively it rises
swaying so minutely, as if reinforcing its own mortality
despite it's mystic essence
it pauses at the veil of solid value
which poses to confine it inside
methodically, consciously
it hovers in a causal stasis
resisting the impulsion of time and internment
it glows; considering it's own illumination
as a self-perpetuated beacon of trust
that this could not be all life has to offer

To-day, the orb no longer exists
for it grew wary and ill of misinformed hope
that could not transcend the boundaries of circumstance
despite its honorable intent
and it faded away to a limpid shell
no longer visible in the darkness that prevades
this hollow cocoon of monochrome and insignificance

poor little orb: to exist without life was such an unfortunate fate
for one so full of inner radiance