A Loss of Innocence.

Potential is my worst enemy
creeping into my soul
filling me up with expectations
that I will never reach.
My dull words put paper to shame
surely a sin to defile something so pure
full of wonderful opportunity that I so bluntly destroyed
without an ounce of consideration.
I wish day after day for something pretty
to fall from the tip of my pen
but all the lines floating around in my mind are dark and ugly.

If I try hard enough, I can think back far enough to remember hopefulness
when the world was fresh and new
filled with honeysuckles and far fetched ideas of reality
gathered all the pine cones from the yard to try and plant trees
but they never grew
as I did
never saw what the world could really be
not as simple as sunny days and indian heads
wind chimes and my mother’s rose bush
dirt on my knees and bee strings
swing sets and slinkies
only disappointment
and broken dreams.