Crayon Box Dreams

Once, colours bloomed beneath my fingertips, A world alive in every waxy line. With careless joy, I painted paper ships And skies where suns and silver moons would shine. Each shade, a song of summers never gray, Of laughter loud, of barefoot, grassy trails. But now those hues have slowly slipped away, Replaced by ticking clocks and grown-up tales. The red of courage fades to aching rust, And blue now weeps where wonder used to live. What age has gained, it took with quiet trust; A trade I made, too blind then to forgive. Yet still I dream in crayon-coloured light, Of days unspoiled and hearts that held me tight.