Mundane Maturity

I think of times when blue skies showed
white shapes that tiptoed overhead
when sticks turned into swords for war
and good was good and bad was bad
when closets housed those ghastly things
and covers were my sole defense.

But now; my days are imageless--
I dream of work and normal life
And wake to an alarming sound.
When pulling up the shades--I look:
I can't recall the last time that
I saw a rainbow and sought gold.

Paul Apgar :: Feb '98