Nostalgia

A Poem by Eli Davis

Why do we forget who we once were? How we view things; the world, people, ourselves? when we were kids, we lay in the grass and not worry of the bugs they may lie with us, nor the dirt in our fingernails as we knew that our elders would look at them and say "cleanse yourself." And as we wash our hands they viewed on us as if we washed the sins of pleasure and guilt-tripped the fibers of humility. We didn't like washing our hands, we saw not the consequences of the fields but the beauty of the soft pit grass lines and moist dew drops reflecting the golden rays of sunlight. When did we change? when did we look outside and see the pain and sicknesses and thus cast them on ourselves? When did our eyes adjust to such... restriction?

The more we grow up the less we ask the question "why?" why is it that in school the student is asked to write about what they want to be or how they see the world, and the teacher replies, "Fail." As if the way we see the world is not how we were programmed to see, as tin-soldiers we stand at order and recite the laws of restricted imaginations and view the world in the eyes of one, the "right one." Or how we are told timelessly to express ourselves and fight for what we believe in but when we share to the world it is considered out-of-turned and frowned upon. How can we show belief to a world that is still at war because of different ones?

When we were kids, we didn't see difference. Colorblind, we didn't see difference. Black or white or any race, it didn't matter. A man once said because children are ignorant. I believe sometimes the world would be a better place if the world was more ignorant. Why do we look at ourselves and judge ourselves to the fullest before we step outside and cry wondering for perfection. When we were kids, we were princesses and astronauts. we made perfection.
why do we see the fields and criticize? why do we not love the stains?