Here's something I informally penned one night when I was in one of "those moods". It lacks a few things to be desired, in my opinion, as I did not spend an incredible amount of time on it.

Nevertheless, here it is:

The Soul of Pluto


Roaming the frigid outer boundaries of exsistance;
Lightyears away from my sole source of warmth;
No lifeform has yet to penetrate my stiff, frozen exterior--
My embodiment of massive gray, void of vibrance, and sealed by ice devoid of tepidity.

The soul of pluto is the soul of a man incapable of love.

Hardened center, stone core, an unimpressionable mass of rock;
Shone on by nothing more than the faded, eerie light of dwarf stars;
Desolate state surrounded in the ultimate, vacant nothingness;
A Luminescence of brilliance, one which I shall never meet, looms in the distance.

The soul of pluto is the soul of a desperate loner.

Far away passes a sphere full of life and vigor;
Great light shines upon neighbors that orbit afar;
Shadowed upon by masses of greater significance;
I am unacknowledged, of little importance to the grand model and process.

The soul of pluto is the soul of a seafarer stranded upon an uncharted island.