Forgotten Prizes

The pantry door creaks open,

revealing the clutter of mornings past,

there it sits—the back of the box,

the prize I never claimed,

a childhood promise in faded print.

Cartoon mascots grin, colors shout,

every ounce of sugar a relic of joy,

when breakfast was a kingdom,

a time when toys were magic,

buried beneath layers of cardboard

that hide a world of possibilities.

In this quiet kitchen,

the ghosts of Sunday mornings linger,

as I stand, frozen,

filled with the taste of nostalgia,

the sweetness of what was,

like a lingering scent

that stays long after the meal is done.