dead imagination of the correct adult

December 9, 2009
Custom User Avatar
More by this author
They can feel the silence, it's fingers pressing against thier back. Chokeing them. Draining the very life from thier limp forms. The emptiness,the death. The death of the imagination once known to the child of free. The paintings ripped, slashed, torn from thier canvases. The stories disapproved, shot down and rejected. Their spirit broken by harsh words and unreasonable reproof. The life, gone. No more love, peace. No more harmony. Just empty, plain, walls. No more childhood. Theyre grown ups now.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback