Painting the sky
When I was seven years old
I brushed the sky with gold
Believing the world was kind and pure.

At ten, the sky turned grey
Reflecting a cold, desolate place;
As the world revealed its harsh allure.

When fourteen came around,
I turned my eyes away.
For I had no time to wonder
What colors suited the sky best.

Now at fifteen, I gaze up with wonder,
Seeking the sky's forgotten hues,
Questioning the colors it once bore.

© deardiary

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