Maturing

As a child, I have fear of none
running and playing in the warm sun
searching for joy, and when I am done
dreaming of fairies in the night

Gaping at wonders so sublime
building castles in the sands of time
Until the betraying clockbell’s chime
brings an end to childish delight

The purpose of Time, or so it seems,
is to rip me from my waggish dreams
and force me to think of grown-up things
in a world of fast fading light

Whimsical dreams fall into decay
in the harsh light of adulthood’s day
and impish tendencies fade away
as innocence loses the fight

And light-hearted creativity
turns into grey maturity
gaining freedoms without feeling free
as I come face to face with life