We grew up with our hearts on our sleeves
I wonder what went wrong?
What happened that made us stop

Adding melodies to our song?



When did the pessimism bulldoze its way

over our shining wanderlust?
Did we close our eyes to beauty and wonder

because we were afraid of the dust?

Perhaps the answer lies in our palms
We just never look at them.
Busy trying to grow our soul from the roots
But cut ourselves off at the stem.