Perspective

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Rag dolls, blocks, and teddy bears,
Each something for which a child may care.
Things thought to have no life within,
Used and abused again and again.

Manipulating toys this way and that,
Jammed inside each dress, each hat.
Given no free will, to think or to fly,
Never given a choice to even ask why.

Eventually we bore and toss them aside,
Like something we loved, at some point we’ve lied.
But doesn’t this happen almost every day?
Aren’t people abused in this very way?

Might our world be a toy box in some child’s room?
Or is that too daft, too absurd to presume.
Used then abused and tossed away
But given the choice to do what we may.

Look out of the dollhouse, up out of the chest,
For if we were, no one would’ve guessed.
Or are we just something with which a child could play?
Used and abused in that very way.





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