Like Toys from a Toy Box
Once more my mind is cluttered -
Remnants of all those words not uttered,
Wings not fluttered, and toast not buttered -
All have spilled out like toys from a toy box.
In the night, I trip over them, hurting myself in the process.
By day I stare at their inscrutable shapes - I don't get it.
I tell myself I need not be able to understand or predict these things -
I've no need concern myself in their toy-lives and interrupt their toy-thoughts -
Whether to help them up or push them down
The damn things are controlled Somewhere Else - Which makes the neat.
However
Sometimes
I want to
And I can't
And then it hurts
Sometimes
I ask others what should be done with these curios -
Even as I extoll upon their beauty and value and wonderful features
I'm advised to throw the damn things out.
Someone once used the metaphor of Bengal Tigers being great -
Doesn't mean you can keep them in your house,
Or play with them like you would a housecat.
In response I used an expletive.
None of the fools understand - maybe they understand too well.
Be that as it may - I'm sure the toys would fit
If Only I Knew How They Worked
If Only Instruction Manuals hadn't moldered to dust
If Only People hadn't Modified - leaving marks and scars
If Only They Weren't So Busy
If Only They Would Allow Me To Open Them!!
but they don't
So I regard my toys cynically, keeping the pack of if's at bay.
I would write off to the factory - but
It
Won't
Let
ME
In
Thus my toys litter my floor and I feel powerless
To this phantoms created outside my reach
And shipped in fresh every day.
I feel like cleaning just for the sake of order -
The comfort of knowing how everything is and will be.
But during cleaning, things invariably get thrown out -
Factories get told to stop sending -
Toys are put in places so that they are never seen again.
My mind's eye observes that some of these toys
Just
Might
Not
Fit
Ever
What then? |
Submission Name: Like Toys From a Toy Box
