Five years old, sweet, innocent and a virtuous smile.

The children salute the sun and a strange place of knowledge

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" ask robots

Happy. I want to be happy.

My innocence is scarred by the word "no".

We are told to become what resides in our hearts yet scolded when we reveal our passion.

What makes a soul so cold that the answer to life is not happiness?

I forget, they are robots. Cold manufactured metal. Built from a mold.

But a soul cannot be built, it is alive in those who desire to live.

I desire to live, and not be. I will not just be.

A crude age yet i perceive my answer with the might of a lion.

I am five, i know the reason for life is happiness.

My incredible small stature declares it once more.

But these robots were built with authority.

Authority makes me feel strange. And wrong. Why so?

I retrieve my seat on the rug colored by shapes of infancy.

But a movement of their solid face.

A smile? Benevolent in all it is.

My naiveness was to them a show.

This is a trivia to me and i connect the dots.

Dare i say these soldiers of society were once happy?

Yes, it is so, they were me, us, like these children.

The children of the sun and nature and students of the game of pretend.

Sparked in me is hopefulness.

They too luckly experienced a world of bliss. 

Yet like a terrible thunderstorm, an omnious cloud of reality presented itself.

Will I be formatted to wear the cruel armor too?

Will I no longer gaze at the playful clouds and play in a sea of green?

This is war and i want to shelter myself, run to a sanctuary, warn my comrades.

Build an army against this monstrosity of life.

But i am five. I am small. And I am alone in my happiness.

Dismissed alas.

The world greets me and I run off to dream.

I commence happiness.