And To Think I Saw It On Mulberry Street

One of the poems I wrote while "experimenting" with different writing styles.
True Friend

It seems they've lost something important
Or maybe it's not important to them at all
Just a toy of the past that broke
Broke from jealousy of new toys coming in and being loved
Broke from the weight of all the other toys
It was stuffed at the bottom of the chest
The pressure of all the others being pushed upon it while having to keep from imploding under it's own weight.

They're throwing it to ground, covering it with dirt
Or maybe it is more than a toy for they are burying it
Their faces look the same
Trying to remember something
Trying to find a reason for using their time to bury it
It was always there for them
But they never needed it, they wished it would go away and now that it has what is the point of wasting their time.

It might have been a loved one
Or maybe just a pet frog
Look at the ugliness and weariness on its face
Weary from putting up with them
Weary from never geting anything back
It would have died for them, couldn't they see?
But now that it is dead, could they care? Do they understand the definition of what it is to be a TRUE FRIEND.