My poem is a kinder egg,
It is a perfectly shaped egg,
Yet unlike your average chicken egg,
Instead of yolk, you’ll find gold,

The anticipation of the treasure within its chore,
Like a Russian doll hiding within the next,
Keep you in that somewhat strange state of alertness,

For an instant, you can but remember your countless kinder moments,
Those which have populated your inner child’s past and present,
For an instant, you can but imagine your present kinder moment,
That which will populate your inner child’s future instants,

That tender smell of plastic savagely begin to tickle your nostrils,
As you begin to dislodge your egg from its aluminium foil,
The temptation lures you into its maze,
It is now too late, you cannot refrain,
You can’t but crack open your egg,
Let yourself gently overwhelmed by your kinder egg


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s