A glass box, sitting on the wooden shelf carved

by an unknown soul, in an unknown time.

The box is solid, invisible, humane.

The creature who lives there is trapped,

yet he does not know anything else.

This box, his glass prison, is his whole world.

His freedom, his nature, it is here he travels

from one side of his spaceless cage to another,

searching for a purpose; a meaning.

Yet how can there be any meaning

when one's life consists of a water jug,

filed down wood trimmings, a few brown

pellets, and a spinning wheel.

The wheel, and its monotonous motion,

saddens me. There is no destination, no

ending goal, just energy wasted on a lifetime

of potential. The poor creature had such

potential. If only he could leave his cage.