The innocence of childhood is gone
The feeling of its absence—Bereft—
A light not known possessed, now departed—
Another dead star in the sky.
But oh, the memories it brings:
The wish to count all the stars in the sky,
Give them each a name and purpose,
A life to live, a life to fulfill—
The fanciful whimsies of a child,
That spark of vitality that makes possible
All things—everything.
For the stars were not just stars, but planets
Not just planets, but people
Not just people, but angels
Angels that settled in the Milky Way
Dipped their feathers in seas of honey
And etched their mark on oceans of glittering black water.
This was the verve of childhood,
The baby soft savor of innocence
A spirit that shone through black ink
Wrote its mark upon the pages of men,
To be remembered, held, cherished.
For this would be a spirit that dimmed,
Dwarfed by the aging of time
Until, like a star, it was gone.
Smoke from a fire
Risen up to the heavens and joined with the clouds,
Slipping through fingers grasping too loose and tight alike.
Now comes the heavy weight of a tainted ignorance
—Knowledge—
It poisons the well of dreams once held,
Like precious babes,
Now tossed away and given up,
Dreams are traded and bartered away.
What use do they hold for men who wish to grasp the stars?
So they fall, and they do not ring when they hit the ground,
Nor do they cry out when trampled underfoot
The children that once held them so close.
No. The innocence of childhood is gone:
Another dead star in the sky.