Two friends play in a silent, dusty street.
Childhood's end is just round the corner like the dying of the day.
The sun sets on a world of chalk and grass stains, scabby knees and unclimbed trees.
Days spent building castles in the sky, made from clouds and dreams,
these days never end till in no time at all they do...
Childhood's end written in the afternoon light where children grow up, make more children,
only now there are no dusty streets filled with shouts and noise and kicked footballs,
no bright brittle skies filled with hopes and dreams.
There is the whirr of Hard Drives, the glow of TV screens and violent delights.
Delights played out in digital domains where dreams are made of pixelated light and fury,
and no wind stirs and keens the senses.
Vistas play out and sparkle on a screen that’s the window to a diminished, polished world.
No match for a childhood spent in grass and trees with freshly cut knees.
Childhood's end comes in dark rooms, no glare from sun and light...
Dark digital dreams played out over and over while childhood fades like the dream forgotten in the morning bright.
(image courtesy of Google images and amended in Adobe Photoshop)
