What is it
Child
That you see in air
A pattern perhaps?
Painted by innocence,
Tainted by man?
Why wish to grasp it
A mere vision fleeting by
When we clearly must learn that dreams
Born In youth
Reside there
Dying young
Yet you try?
Why Is it innocent Is blind by hope
whereas Tainted is all seeing, hopeless?
Perhaps I might remain blind
If it meant dreaming again
And hoping...
