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.'
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