Twenty seven we sit,
Styrofoam solar systems 
Within cinderblock walls,
Trying not to lose our colors by
Orbiting as planned, 
Spinning eyes over the room
While paint, like sand,
Crumbles from hardened shell to 
Seats nearby.
Questioning if we represent
The magnitude of our paper labels,
We planets ponder
The implications of our majors,
Galaxies beyond
Our comprehension.