Once upon a time in a simple world located far, far away

A room is no longer a room,
once a blooming garden
of flutters, kisses, and caresses.
A wall is no longer a wall,
to keep us safe
from the monsters.
A painting is no longer two hills,
a sunset, and a flowing river,
a pure-hearted expression on canvas.
 
Love is no longer delightful,
its loss is no longer bittersweet,
the world,
no longer forgiving.  
 
Scribbles on newspapers
were pure random joy,
lullabies
wooed us to deep slumber,
stories
spilled magic into the forgotten corners of the heart.

We grow up
and we complicate.
We lose the power to let go,
and harbor memories that push us to the edge.
 
We learn
and we complicate.
We write lengthy essays
for what a child may express in four words.    
 
We live
and we complicate.
We try to cram more life into that little dot of time,
until we die trying.