Grateful that that small light never pasted,
In a jar its now faded and never will last,
I wanted to keep it to light up my life,
But trapped behind glass it’s starved and confined,
I sat on a chair, it was in the middle of the table,
No longer heat, but a stable coldness,
My chin of the wooden oak,
I flicked the glass, a gentle ring to my ears,
No light or movement,
I sat on the chair, my chin on the table,
The glass lay before me,
Transparent, with nothing,
But still I don’t see through,
And still I await the light that was never there,
Never born, never knew…
