What Made Sense Then

The sky was bluer than the truth,
The days were green with kindness,
And what our limitations were
Less known to us than now —

And where we gathered, laughter grew,
Like moss upon a treeside;
We swung out on a tire swing,
And flew when we let go —

What made sense then was not the world,
For it’s been ever troubled:
Our dreams were dark with mushroom clouds
And polymorphic fears,

But others worried for us, we were
Busy being children,
And didn’t see our lakes and rivers
Came from others’

Tears

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