We Are the Toys of Time

[TranquillityBase]

We are the toys 
of an omnipotent child
not right in the head
who wanders the rooms
between the Earth and the Moon,
close by, so he can see us play
with the little packets of joy
given in moments of elation.

His idea of fun
is to get color into the game
blood covering our face
nothing unveiled but the eyes
staring in surprise

or simply smothering our souls
with drool and sticky fingers
until death turns us 
into a cooling fog
that lifts and is forgotten.

He is our unlucky God
plagiarized out of planets
the third player who casts
the decisive lot
and descends into time 
with no wish to survive.

We are the toys of time

antics, tricks, 

thoughtless entertainments

of an insane God

who inhabits

an invisible province

between the Earth and the Moon.



Sometimes an amorous game,

a tender caress,

a playful movement

for his amusement,

whether it be the touch of a woman

or some other lighthearted tip,

done out of charity

to send us some joy



or a cut to the quick

blood covering the face

nothing unveiled but the eyes

staring in surprise



or simply a smothering

until death turns the body 

into a cooling fog

that lifts and is forgotten.



He is a fortunate God

plagiarized out of planets

misbegotten and random

a happy collection of atoms

in a sequence foretold

the third man who casts

the decisive lot for his toys

and oddly descends

a point in time with no

reason or season 

or wish to survive.

I've taken certain words and phrases of this poem from the Oxford English Dictionary entries for "toy" and "happy" and "odd".  Of its 144 words, approximately half come from paraphrased definitions, etymologies and historical examples in the OED for those words.  Fun is where you find it, and that's where I found it this Sunday morning.