I wrote this poem last summer. I do not remember the context but I felt that it was a good follow up to last weeks fiction post.
Childhood is a time of magic and possibilities.
Adults know all and there is an adventure waiting just around the corner.
Days full of wonder and delight.
But everyone grows up, except for Peter Pan and his is a lonely tale.
We forget what it is to imagine unlimited possibilities
And our dreams tend to have more to do with where we want to be in our jobs.
Some forget how to dream at all.
As a whole, adults become disenchanted
And lose the ability to wonder at the world outside the front door.
Living day-to-day; work, bills, responsibilities
These in general blind us. These things are required to live
But they do not make us truly happy, maybe not even content.
How do we regain, at least in part, that sense of wonder with the world?
No two people will find joy in the same things
But for me I find it in the little things.
Sunsets and bright flowers, and the fact that my Bear eats them
Dark, cool nights with the stars bright over head
And watching the full moon rise – flowing from pale gold to silver-white.
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