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