The world within; childhood lost

To recapture the light and dreams of my childhood, what price would I pay? How troubling it is that memories and pictures formed in days gone by have become like distant murmurs ghosting in the wind.  The senses that recorded these insights, these kaleidoscopes of feeling, are still there; these senses that painted the canvas of the life I once lived are still aware – only now they are tempered by reality, dulled by the inevitable grindstone of time.  Time’s merciless passage fades the sharpest most poignant memories; oh how can they be captured again?  Who measures this priceless loss, this treasure trove slipping through callous fingers?  To touch the soul the colours of now must be brighter and bigger, sharper and shinier, scintillating and larger than life.

To dream my childhood dreams again, I must open my childhood eyes.  The world without shall once more take its place at the feet of the world within, the existence of reality serving the reality of imagination.  No more unruly responsibilities and lackluster logic to shackle the wings of childhood dreams.  No more rules and so-called truth to bind, rather let freedom reign in an unfettered mind.  The imagination of a child is marvelous to me, more emotive than sight, more tangible than touch, unexplored places wait for potential to be.  Child inside, open your eyes, come out and be free.