The Place Where Lost Things Lay

An abyss of odds and ends, it is,
the gap beneath the bed.
Where simple things do congregate
Such as that charging cord I lost
and my shirt of red.

Rarely sifted through, it is,
as frightening it may be;
when reaching in to search the mass
my hand becomes sticky.

I know there lies a baseball glove
and half a bag of chips...
Though they are not quite worth the mess
that I would have to deal with.

So there they stay, among the
cords and chips and springs.
Down underneath the sleeping place
in the land of unfound things.