The box is full yet nothing left,
cystals and strange apparati
fill the dark, clear and pristine,
A sundry of forgotten dreams,
a space best filled with dark again.
What a shame to leave the treasure,
what a time to wait for none,
for many who seek search wrong,
lest they seek the rising sun.
Some must stumble through the dark,
tread flighty, pay no fares
ice is cold and fire burns,
Shadows won’t ‘luminate tears.
When the sun doth come again,
And in this heart shed a ray of hope
a second or a days rejoice
Is quite enough to know,
infinite is found in that single grain,
The part represents the whole.