Treasure Chest

My stuffed toys all imprisoned in a box:
childhood – discarded, yet not thrown away,
their motley colours faded as they lay
within this glass enclosure. Patchwork fox
and beanbag rabbit lie dead side by side
with no more verve to fight or run astray.
These sheep now sleep in fluffy lumps through day
and what strange peace these puppets can abide.

Needing no air, they get none in this case
where clocks have stopped for them, but as for I,
who looked on them so suddenly tonight,
my time still runs, with no longer a space
for these that brought me joy in years long by –
and kept me company in sleeping tight.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s