The Toymaker
He always wore that tattered coat,
always black, not a whiff of white.
Those mischievous eyes wore
such a sinister and obsessive gleam.
Were you that toymaker?
Or is it part of my neurotic imagery?
We know your toys can be perfect,
whether creating light or darkness.
Perhaps you are cunning,
or it is I who am so.
Yes, a so-and-so, with eyes
that have light or darkness.
So am I that toymaker,
with a gleam that I wear and bear?
Do I see you, then it, then myself?
Life can be a playroom, filled with colourful toys.
(8 Sep 2025)
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
