My Chosen Blade

I'm going to do a big update soon, but not yet. I'm pretty busy. This post is my paper that I just barely wrote for English. Any thoughts on it would be nice. We picked a painting in our art museum on campus and we have to pick one word to describe it. The catch is that you can't use that word in the paper. Anyways, so here it is. The painting is Two Worlds by Henrietta Shore.

Two orbs float in a dream world of brilliant blue. Their radiating light casts a glow on the surface below. The glow does nothing to gladden the barren surface. The sky ripples from dark to light. All is still. A sharp crag extends towards the heavens. Its harsh edges of black cut the blue. One orb hovers just above, beaming its content. It is faint, but luminous. All seems well. The other orb hangs below. The ground appears a mere distance away. Its center is deformed. Smoldering, it pulses viciously. All is vivid. A rivulet of its light reaches ever up towards the other orb. Its own encasing prevents the light from leaving. Its constant barrage brings no success. It strives for higher, superiority gnawing its soul. All is yearning. Bloating with dissatisfaction, it sinks. Its core churns. Each upward longing is an added weight. The ground grows closer. All is falling.
Oblivious to the struggle it causes, the high orb is satisfied. Its size, place, and feelings are concrete. It exists with a joy of life. It is grounded in its fortune. All is constant. The other orb rages in its craving. Equality would not be enough for it. Satisfaction with any fate seems unlikely. “More” continues to be its mindless cry. All is need. The blaze of the falling orb brings itself pain. Its energy depletes to feed its hunger. Each feeding increases its insatiable desire. It finds no repose. All is drained. It remains trapped in its self-created downward spiral. No ladder could save it from the plunge. The bleak earth draws near. Destruction is inescapable. All is lost.
My Word: Want