Breathing in fresh air into the aged wisdom that
Sprouted forth so much growth in its season.
And now, without a doubt lingering in its cross hairs
The trigger is already pulled
I have already remembered what it feels like
To be young in the twilight of your wisdon
The 10:30 recess reminding you of fresh air
And that being trapped in rooms made of concrete walls
Is no way to squander the prime years of imagination.
No trees to give faces and voices
The missing clouds breaking away and forming into spilled milk
With no one to witness its glorious tipping.
Let us roam free once again, like every moment
was recess.


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