were fairies?
When boxes were kindgoms,
And dreams were apples waiting to fall from
Their luscious, green homes
Right into our laps?
We savored them completely,
Sweet juices running down our chins.
It was that easy.
It was that magical.
Because we didn’t know better.
We hadn’t yet bitten into a
Façade of sweetness,
Only to discover the rotten core
That was lain within-
The remnants of things that
Once were pure and true,
Now reeking with an achrid stench.
Where goes that wonder?
Where goes that trust in that
Which we have no reason to trust at all?
Where does it exist,
But in the heart of childhood?
We watch,
We wait,
We pinch,
We pry,
We protect,
We predict.
But, when do we ever just believe?
Saccharine or rancid,
Win or lose,
The orchard is there
For the taking.
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