Oh how I should long for those days of innocent upbringings,

the nights of going to bed wailing over rainbow sprinkles,

the sizzling summer saunas,

when the bees buzzed too loudly.

I should miss these days of cleansing purity,

but I don’t.

For, now, I shed tears for other’s:

Their impalpable pleasantries,

wounds inflicted by ignorance,

and their ignorance pathetically plastered from posters.

The darkness surrounding doesn’t lead to embodiment,

rather it sparks motivation to dig higher through the musk,

and seek for the shimmering stars.

The condensity of cemented gravel doesn’t solidify

the urge to adhere to the pavement.

The hints of salt being presented add flavor

to the regularly assumed black coffee.

The years of innocence have been melted down,

like broken childhood crayons.

They have been reshaped,

resized,

reconstructed,

yet their color stays true:

the validity of these years will always be transparent.

These unavoidable years will be entailed as scars,

years will slowly help fade these memories,

but a slight mark will always remain.