In a tiny queen’s castle, I hold a sweet prize. In a museum, I take a man’s guise. If I grow in your head, I block out sound. If I melt in your hand, I cast light around. I’m what the moon does after it’s new. If you’re a poet, I’m what you do, too.

Of gold I am good and of stone I am callous. Of glass I am fragile and to be cold I am of malice.

I see you with both eyes, and you perceive me just the same I can imitate your every movement, yet my voice is heard in vain

I come in pairs but speak as one, I cage the breath once words are done. Born of voice yet bound in text, Without my form, all sense is vexed.

I'm fastened with nails. I'm a means to arrive. I'm two to begin but I end as a five. My length is my own, not know globally. The most devious time is when something's a me.