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Poem

After an occasion of travel 
I have reached this new found world. 
My report however is not an encouraging one. 
The life forms here are very primitive. 

They house their spirits in a canister, 
each spirit container holds one spirit but 
for a select few, which holds a canister 
within a canister with a young spirit within it. 

They keep their god in a box. 
It shines on their faces most of the evening,
flashing bright images at them. 
It gives them direction on how to be,what to think, 
where they can take their canisters, 
and what to do when they get there. 
They receive this information daily 
from their god in a box. 

They do not move with their star, to stay in the light 
but when the shadow of their one moon falls 
they lay their container prone until their star 
breaks over the crest of this backward planet. 

They keep their containers well groomed and 
covered at all times with many different colors 
of many different materials. 
Their god in a box tells them or shows them 
with what to cover their canisters. 

They all live in fear of losing their canister. 
They fear death; they do not understand 
how free they will be without their containers, 
and their god in a box.

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