A ping-pong ball's insides

 
Inside the celluloid sphere lies a space
where silence reigns and nothing stirs.
A hollow world devoid of no any trace
of life, light or color that to one occurs.

The only sound is when the ball is hit
by paddles swift and skilled in every take.
The only motion is the bounce and flit
of flying orb that never seems to break.

For the only sight is of the smooth and plain
of a surface that reflects the inner scene.
The only shape is of the round and sane
of a sphere that is so perfect and serene.

Inside the ball there is no need for hue
it is a world of nothingness and no true.