Lost Inspiration


the best time of your life is when your fort of couch cushions became a castle
when the whole world fit into your bedroom
as you sailed the cerulean sea on top of your bunkbed
steering with an old frisbee
you were a plundering pirate one day
and a porcelein skinned princess the next day

When was the spell broken?

Once reality was shaped in the palm of your hand
And now reality chains your wrists to your mind's troubles.

The memories of limitless pursuits
When your eyes painted the sky in a different colour.
You lived in a dream of vivid simplicity.
Cradle these memories
Before time devours them.

Years fly through your fingers as shattered days
And you slip into monotone routine.

How long before your box of memories is moved from your closet to your garage,
and then to your attic?

And when you rush frantically to reach the tattered box
To taste the freedom of young relentless adventure
And untainted inspiration
You realize that you have already thrown the box away

And you have grown up too fast.



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