A Toy
R. L. Withers
A toy – portal into
imagination.
A toy not
played with – sorrow.
Children who
cannot play nor eat.
The belly of
gluttony here; the belly of starvation there.
Do we care?
Building blocks
never to be played with to build
Castles, homes,
and skyscrapers.
Toy cars never
to be driven on a floor.
Stuffed bears
and dolls never to be hugged – is that a tear?
Do bears cry?
A toy box once
full of hope, its contents now strewn about,
Each toy going
its own way. - collateral damage they say.
Little fingers
will not grasp them, nor will little hands hold them,
Nor innocent
arms embrace them.
Will little
voices squeal with delight?
Will little eyes
sparkle bright?
Little faces
smile?
Little hearts
beat with joy?
Or will the
little ones not meet their toys,
Until they are
both in the landfill of life?
