What happened to the little boy
that I once knew so well?
He’d greet each new day with unfettered joy
and wave the last one farewell.

When oaks and maples began to turn
and the leaves had started to fall
the boy happily switched the TV on and yearned
for the return of his game of football.

Somewhere along this growing boy’s way
he became a great deal like me:
I wake and walk to the mirror today
to see where that boy used to be.

Now I cling to every last leaf
that falls from the branches up high
while stretching the days that are now too brief
as the winter comes rapidly nigh.

Most curious
duality ... this
Sentimentality

Excessive tenderness,
sadness, nostalgia
corrupting modality,
distorting reality's
social edifice

Brain-cramping
contortion,
fierce pressure
building,
Sentimentality
wielding an
assault on
humanity!

Liars lie with
impunity
Childhood
lessons lost
Darkness
perverting civility

Root of irrational passions,
misplaced idealism—
This insidious,
ever-swelling
tsunami of
Sentimentality



Mark Toney © 2022

These memories of mine,
These senses through time;

Whisper of a never-ending summer,
And never-changing souls.
As if hidden behind ones own reflection,
Never to be reached again.

For, the only place this exiled world is permitted,
Is amidst the realms of dreams and limbo.
And solely a gaze beyond oneself,
May reveal the leap between realities.

So, here I stand on the edge of beginnings,
Ready to join the eternal summer;
Misled by the luring benevolence of timelessness,
In need of guidance back to the truth.

I have a pit in my stomach that feels like a fist
Just squeezing tighter and tighter
Tomorrow everything could change
Even if it stays the same it’s only for a matter of time
I’ve been waiting years for this moment and I know I should be excited but I feel like I’m letting a lot go
I’m going to miss the conversations during the car rides
I know you hate picking me up and dropping me off
I loved the time spent together
I will gain the world tomorrow but to me it will be at the loss of a treasure

After a while you’ll stop caring about him, but then you’ll find yourself wondering if he still has the mug you made for him in pottery class and if every time he sees it he remembers the smile you wore from ear to ear as he took it out of its newspaper wrapping because that smile meant a hell of a lot more than a mug ever could but neither was enough to make him stay.

A ****** thing
When put there in the lamplight
But chosen with the utmost care
Pretend it’s just kitsch
And not some ******* you’d throw away had someone else gifted it.