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From Transformers: Lost and Found

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In the dark all colors are grey
cool, indistinct and muted.
In their muddle I am rooted
without pain, but without promise
to alleviate the night with day.

What I’m waiting for I can’t yet say.
My spark is stillness, held
frozen under guard, enspelled
by the kind of magic I alone possess:
to kill all stirring otherwise to play.

A single beam of light, here astray
under clearly false pretenses,
to break upon my senses
as though it could belong to me,
shows me a weakness that I betray:

Because in its touch the colors blaze
new life: a riot in my
bleak landscape. I reach out and try
to take the glowing motes of dust;
and for just an instant, I stand amazed.