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.