The Ballad of My Heartstrings

lost treehouse

psychedelic skies,
world constructed in merciful lies.

unquenchable curiosity allowed to run rampant,
incapacitating worries gloriously absent.

but unsympathetically the seasons had changed,
trapping us in a torturous ever-shrinking cage.

abruptly bringing misted eyes into sharp focus,
the cruelty of some unwarrantedly awoke us.

oh how extraordinary it would be to go back to that time,
when being woebegone is the only crime.

but alas the roots that support us continue to weaken,
and on goes the arduous search for everlasting eden.