A little gray box,

with a small orange spiral,

sits quietly here.

Often overlooked,

very rarely remembered,

the box sits dormant.

I push a button,

orange light splashes the gray,

and a fan turns on.

It is a relic,

from when broadband was still new,

from the late '90s.

This box shows no age,

it knows little wear and tear,

it loads games with ease.

A box of promise,

SEGA's flagship game console,

a new leaf to turn.

For barely one year,

the Dreamcast was at the top,

despite SEGA's past.

SEGA had been cruel,

dishing out expensive parts,

all without support.

Profit margins slim,

and SEGA tapped out on cash,

the Dreamcast soon failed.

A coup de grace,

delivered by a black box,

Sony's PS2.

To add to this mess,

the Dreamcast would read burned disks,

pirates pillaged it.

SEGA's last big save,

all for nothing in the end,

their gray box failed them.

The gray box sits here,

dutifully playing games,

a living tombstone.

A portal opens.

I find myself forced through it.

The portal closes.

I land in darkness.

A barren land stretches here,

catching those who fall.

There is no sunlight,

nothing to look forward to,

not a shred of hope.

I heard an old man,

a driver of sixty-five,

wants just a bar stool.

He will sit and drink,

wait for death to pull his card,

and go quietly.

I know a young man,

not much older than myself,

already quite worn.

Many jobs he's known,

yet he has no long-term plan,

I worry for him.

I looked at myself,

saw so much wasted schooling,

yet I keep my hope.

I have been lucky,

my parents quite lenient,

and my bills quite low.

I have what few have,

some time to fix my whole life,

I will not waste it.

I just need a job,

one to lead to another,

to establish me.

A portal opened,

one that leads to school and work,

I will jump through it.

I will work harder,

I'll study more carefully,

and I'll keep my hope.