The Toy Box

Each of us has one;
each alone may see it,
and none is ever touched these days.
Its content, though, is real enough.
There little blocks of memory
are carelessly assembled,
rudely left by time to gather dust
that filters in to gently cover them--
not quite enough to cause
an aging child to close the lid too soon.

Mayhap a friend who comes to play
will bring along his own to share,
though I would never trade with him.
My blocks are worn; the edges rounded,
and now my hands retrace
the tumbling journey of their history,
those moments of surprise
when blindfolds were removed,
and gushing bursts
of sorrow, sighs and ecstacy
came to me alone.

My toy box is a treasure I may never share.
Storage is no problem; it is always there.
I do not outgrow it, for it comes along with me
throughout this life--beyond I do not know.
The toys are magical, and never change.
And, you know...they are much more
than keepsakes; they are just like life.
In fact, it streams from them
and never mind their age,
it does behoove me now
to give them better care.
     
So please.  I find
I rather love the toys within my box.
Dust or no, I mean to keep them all.
        ~

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

Your words always lead me to a path of grand awakenings...

"My blocks are worn; the edges rounded,
and now my hands retrace
the tumbling journey of their history"

I am envious of this one, my friend. Bravo!

xo

[Dean]

you da poet here..give us more

[Lover of loveliness]

I hope the lid never closes on your box of 'toys, .... But. Leave a special few with someone special so where so that they can store it in their box and then the 'toys' can be a pleasure or learning for others too . I enjoyed reading your poem.

[Dean]

thank you very much

[Beccy]

Everything we garner along the path of life is stored away in that 'toy box.' Age brings wisdom beyond the number of little grey cells that we are told diminish as the years pass. Doubtless there will come a time when I will misplace my glasses, (not that I need them as yet,) or perhaps will forget what I actually went to the shop for, but the important stuff will remain indelibly printed.

Beccy.

[Dean]

thanks a lot

[Marie]

I would like to get rid of all my past toys. They are only a hindrance.

[Dean]

the poem was allegory, dear. I was surprised when not many recognized it for that.

[Marie]

Oh I did understand it as an allegory. And that's what I meant.