Restricted.

There is not much space left;
the spell is diminishing and
waste accumulating.

It is all stored in there,
locked up, nice and well,
shunned out of memory; lying,
gathering dust.

The wonderful gardens are growing,
the butterflies, the magical little
creatures and the innocence: all
stored well and growing. Ah!
Perhaps I will revisit?

Fairytales with princesses,
frogs that transform into kings,
Kingdoms that form living space--
The world is out there just
out there, a reach just beyond.

I am growing up; the storage
get bigger and better. The doors
open and close often, the contents
drift into vision and quickly out.

The hardcovers with colourful
illustrations, in boxes and fancy
covers: the once real,
almost unquestioned now sits, as if
in protest.


Images that once captured my mind
now form a box filled to the brink
and labelled-
'discard.'