A Jar Full of Perfection

You can see right through it

That transparent glass

And it's on an otherwise empty table

That's big enough for a King's banquet 

The windows are shut

And grey curtains are drawn

The door is locked and it'll remains as such

The hinges are rusted and the key has crumbled

There's a layer of dust

Over every surface

But the jar is always polished to a sheen

It's cleaned ever day with a brand new cloth

The lid is on tight

And its vacuumed sealed

There's seven shallow indents carved right in

Although you might not even see them with the lack of light

It's not as heavy as you'd think

There's barely anything to it

If you didn't know better you'd say it was empty

Yet try to lift it and your shoulder will scream in agony

The handle is rectangular 

With a small gap for a finger

It's stiff though and tough to pull open

It takes gritted teeth and steadfast determination

When you take the lid off the jar

And let the perfection leak out

You're just left with an empty jar