When the Toys Stop

Kisses bye and hugs

linger around my neck

smells of childhood and sweet evenings hang

in the air like wafts of smoke

after the campfire goes, and the heat goes;

the embers slowly burn away.

Dirty dishes and laundry

beds unmade and little candy wrappers scattered like

leaves and twigs brought in from outside,

riders on the feet and in the hair of angels

everything still as frozen snow 

cold and lonely, bereft of motion

But memories move

visions I still see

voices still ring in my ears

sights and sounds burned into my wanting heart

never wanting the toys to stop turning.

Holding on to my children,

spinning the tops, making them laugh

holding them stronger than the Universe holds its' firmament

more delicate than the clouds that settle on the mountains

every touch a memory, feeling life's transition

from mine, to theirs.

Everything owned, supports 

nothing except the ability to make memories

with younger versions of myself and nothing more.

There is no meaning other than trying to do right

where there was wrong

shield where there are storms

teach where there are lessons

love where there was none.

The heaviness and emptiness of nothing 

weighs more than the all world 

and the toys and trinkets of abstraction 

cannot bring more joy than their safe slumber,

silent sprites after days long ending, into night.

When the toys stop.