From the Mouths of Babes

There are vibrant blues, pulsating greens, earthy browns.

You are in the middle of it all, laughing; you are happy.

You are also dreaming...you don't realize you've been carried away until you land.

Land, and become unhappy

Around you people are fighting, people are bleeding.

In your world, nobody dies.

Children are whimpering, children are crying.

In your world, nobody is sad.

Your world looks kind of nice...but you are a child, and nobody listens to you.

Plan our world from the dreams of children? Ridiculous.

So you freeze and submerge again.

And there you stand, spinning wonder from your mind while we destroy around you.

Then you blink, and it's gone.

You're back again. You're standing there in bewilderment at the people fighting, the children crying.

I explain in hushed whispers the nature of this world. You frown, you utter two words

"That's stupid."

And then you're gone, back to your imaginary beauty. And I'm stuck in the twisted ruins of what could have been your vibrant blues and pulsating greens

But it's not. It is oozing black and slithering gray.

And yet, you can still fathom of beauty.

If a child can make oozing black into pulsating green, then why can't we?

As you say…they are just children.