gone are the golden thoughts of childhood
the fascination with the sunrays crawling into our living rooms
and the ants scattering themselves over the sidewalk in a disorderly fashion
yet knowing all along what their order is anyway.
the best days of our lives with no pretentious ideas
about a world we knew we know little about
before our eager minds aspired to a seriousness only adults try for
but cannot gain
(no one can be that prejudiced.)
we begged the world to hand over every preconcieved notion
just like our parents before us
sitting in the stark blue walls of a sterile classroom
with a few designs splashed on the walls from thespanish teacher in period 8
(the one everyone else hates for her creative spirit)
(hates her for herchildlike faith in an unknown world out there)
fluttering tissue paper, and childlike smiles, reflecting the rays of sunlight
dancing through the room
they show themselves during spanish, and no other time.
and they bless her for her hated spirit of limited knowledge
and a hunger for more
and we all sneer with the history teacher when we walk in
forgetting we once knew the world held so much more too
all parroting the well known phrase
"thats not possible"
and forgetting the sunlight haze of faith
dancing around our eager bodies
and open minds.