Forgotten Toys

I don't think we know how real we all are.

The dead of night is a curious thing,
With shadows forged from celestial light that help the fear not sting.
I take the time I spend out here to think,
In an effort to stop the endless quarrel of things that never stop to blink.
Because you see we are like forgotten toys,

Our souls exist but we do not acknowledge them like boys
Do girls on warm sunny days caught in the armpit of summer.
Perhaps this is why the shadows dance and never make a blunder.
So in the blanket of night I’ll wait,

And dream of things to say when I reach Heaven’s gate.
I don’t learn secrets from the quite whispers of the night’s wind,
But what I do learn, is of all those things lost within.

I think this is why we have our own vice.
It’s a way to seek our souls, and ask it for advice.

Author's Note

So after I wrote this sonnet I realized my mistake, and rather than revise it like I did for my class, I figured I'd leave it this way because it makes more sense. Enjoy.

Reviews

[The Winter Grey]

A very unique and arresting take on mortality and eternity. You worded it just right and kept the tone darkly speculative. Excellent work.

[thundergod]

Yaa true or say we dnt realise the beautiful part of us we r only lured by d outside world and adapt accordingly......one shuld remember dat a man is mortal but soul lives forever

Good one frnd and so lyrical