Forgotten Toys
Much to my dismay, The new rays shine Next to me, Spotlighting another in the shadow land Of forgotten toys: For the big kids to play with and use, abuse, And then throw back once more. The chosen toy is plucked and raised by manicured fingers from An indifferent hand, As other toys fall around its ascension into the light. This light, A reprieve, but impure, diffused, A fluorescent blue. We stand together sometimes To provide comfort and warmth but can't see one another. It isn't pitch, But more like twilight's tail, Where light bleeds to night. I can make out some of the other toys, I recognize them by their suffering, etched over their best features, In this shadow land of forgotten toys, Used and abused by big kids and a few lucky, chosen toys. My friends were plucked some time ago, I am left here with strangers, Familiar to me only by the sound they make When they’re dropped next to me. They recognize me as well, We pretend to empathize with one another, And might sometimes if our woes are sung just right. Pick me, I scream. A manicured hand grazes my plastic side, And I remember what I'm made of As a hollow feeling twists nothing inside. Love passes right through me. I will never be full. Patterns emerge, formed of the toys picked, Many of them are battered, Well-used, Usually the ones with unique designs, Barbies before Kens, Mr. Potato Head before Buzz.