In the land of appliances, where the coffee maker weeps and the blender screams,
there exists a toaster, Frosty Toaster 2, that defies the norms of its kin.
With a heart of gold and a sole of fire, it toasts with passion and with flair,
but at what cost? Is it just a toaster, or is it something more?
Does it seek validation in the kitchen, or is it just a hollow core?
Its coils, a fiery serpent, spew forth a culinary dream;
yet in the silence of the kitchen, it searches for its theme.
Is it just a machine, or is it a harbinger of doom?
Does it seek to toast, or does it merely seek to be seen?
Hyperlinks to other sonnets of this series: