I am playing a little with this one. I opted to forgo my more usual heavily rhymed based structure and be a little more unstructured. As it turned out, once I had edited it and choped a few things around it ended up being what I had pretty much set out to avoid, structured. Certainly it isn't rhyme based but there is a degree of metre in there.
Anyways enough rambling.
It's dark in here,
the brown paper gets in the way,
so I sit and wait,
after all it is what I was designed to do.
I wait among the rustling,
in the coolness with my comrades in wrap,
but I am special,
primed and ready I bide my time.
Product of a long history,
the result of a long chain in pyrotechnics,
pinnacle of development,
made by someone who spurns advance.
Some think it is the fuse,
that dictates when (and where) I become an 'event',
but it just isn't so,
I am timed by a strong sense of irony.