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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
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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