Watching Grass Grow

When did we get boring

and miserable?

Was it when our legs sprouted

into trees overnight and

our arms into branches?

Was it when we noticed our

first pretty girl and slipped

her that note with nervous

trepidation?

Did we die a little inside

when we grew too big

for the swings and the

slides and the jungle

gyms?

Did we die a little inside

when we took our first

sip of poison and our

first breath of smoke?

How did the tragic death

of our childhood complacency

with the world and the

stars and the universe

come about; more importantly

who’s or what’s to blame?

Were we only happy then

because we didn’t know the rules,

the whats, hows, and wherefores

or life? We thought we could

do anything and be anything

and we could tailor-make

the world to our liking.

Was our naivety a certain

bliss; a certain amulet keeping

us safe?

I feel as I grow older the magic

dies a little year after year,

and there’s no way to bring

it back -

and the stale

boringness of life

sets in a little more

year after year.