A Coming of Orb Tale

Far above the clouds floats the island Orbaire
where everyone is equal and everyone shares.
Orbaire is a memory. Orbaire is a dream.
Orbaire is a place that exists in between.
The orbs who inhabit this liminal plane
are happy and helpful but they are all the same.
Orbaire is a utopia. Orbaire self-sustains,
but the orbs of Orbaire have forgotten their names.
Their names aren’t forgotten by malicious intent,
but a lack of inspiration has left them complacent.
The same can’t be said for a young blob named Loof
who ponders existence alone on a roof.
All young blobs become orbs to be unitary,
but Loof asks, “Can’t I be a blob and still be me?”
When a blob comes of orb, in Orbaire, so it is said,
they are given a robe and a job and a bed.
Here they work as a unit and miraculously so.
They all work together; they all watch Orbaire grow.
But something is lost in the uniform hustle, and a
smoothness so smooth makes Loof yearn for a shuffle.
Loof loves their orb family and Orbaire and the sky,
but Loof loves being Loof. They like it just fine.
Loof sees the world in a different way, wants to
share their ideas even when they're strange.
In fact stranger is better as far as Loof is concerned,
not the same old ideas to be thoughtlessly churned.
When builder orbs build in the sky scattered land,
they build from only approved building plans.
But Loof wants to build wild things from their mind,
like a spiral shaped house with a fountain inside.
And inside the fountain a nectar so sweet
that orbs from all over would come for the treat.
Ideas such as this, though sweet they may seem,
are not part of the plan and will not come to be.
A frustrated Loof feels constrained and constricted,
they yearn to realize the ideas they’ve been gifted.
All these plans were by no measure wrong, but
Loof didn’t like being stuck playing the same song.
Loof knew they had a decision to make,
leave Orbaire or accept their orb fate.
The night before Loof’s coming of orb ceremony
was like any other except it was stormy.
Loof’s robe left outside became soaked in the rain,
they were offered their mom’s, modest and plain.
But Loof abhorred drab robes so they protested
to which mom responded, “you must accept it.”
“We all become orbs and wear robes,” they went on
as Loof gazed afar with a longing quite long.
Loof couldn’t quite place it, this feeling they had.
They went to their room and packed a small bag.
Their mother called out, seeing Loof with their sack,
“I fear if you leave you might never come back”.
This made Loof quite sad. Orbaire was their home,
but they needed to strike out, be a blob of their own.
When the bell rang and the blobs gathered round
there was no sign of Loof at their home or in town.
But off in the clouds a shimmer shown in the light,
it was Loof in a robe that inspired delight.
The robe covered in colors and bejeweled to the max
had been altered so that it fanned out in the back.
The seams were all sewn with a sparkling thread
that Loof’s mother had sewn after Loof went to bed.
But the most striking feature, in gold and in gray,
was Loof’s name in bold, proudly put on display.
This awoke in the orbs, something forgotten.
Their names returned, they told how they got them.
Loof looked on the scene with a tear in their eye,
as the orbs said their names Loof started to cry.
Crying with joy Loof addressed the orb crowd
who were laughing and talking and joking around.
“We can be ourselves and still work together.
In this way I believe we can make Orbaire better.”
“We are still a collective, we are still an orb team,
What makes us stronger is that we’re unique”
The orbs had awoken and reclaimed their names,
individuals standing together are stronger, not the same.
The modern Orbaire as compared to the old
is an eclectic and magical sight to behold.
Orbaire is a memory. Orbaire is a dream.
Orbaire is a place that exists in between.