Paraffin
A thing deemed of no further utility in a cruel system
A useless ball of paraffin wax,
Bland, devoid of color in appearance,
Sits quietly on a table.
It looks too stale and unable to melt
and be remolded into another,
more useful shape and hue.
No hands are near to try that work;
not even the slightest of sounds
to coax out hope for newness of look and purpose.
Therefore, the ball of wax sits on a table,
not waiting at all.
Once, long ago when old things were new things,
the wax was different in tint,
arranged in a smooth rectangular cube,
with sharp, defined edges and shiny faces,
even a calming, soothing scent to attract,
ready and able to take any form, fulfill any use
that such fresh material could satisfy.
Over time, a piece removed here, cut away there;
the room heated too high, melting the wax
until it oozed and dripped into places unwanted,
the detritus scraped and cast aside,
and never seen again.
