When I was born, I cried because I was wise.
I screamed, "Put me back! Put me back!"
But no one understood that language.
And as I grew, my mind dulled.
The language of maturity engrained within that soft pink mass.
I learned the truth from books written by scholars in long gowns.
I chose the path of an adult and dreamed adult dreams.
And I found...
It's really not all bad.Then time passed, thoughts eroded, and dreams faded.
And now... when I go to sleep, I no longer dream at all.
I search for the foriegner I once knew as a child,
And I long for the lost language of his creativity.
And if I should find him,
I scream, "Put me back! Take me back!"
And he eyes me sharply, saying nothing.
Then he's gone,
And with him, the elegance of my simplicity.