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.