watching clouds form from a child's imagination,
i watch the creation bloom.
its roots crawling up your arm,
from your pencil,
as it swiftly scetches your
memories on the peice of wide rule noetbook paper.

your eyes glision,
as the artwork,
slowly unraveling before your eyes.

the ideas keep growing the more the pencil writes.
its wraping its way into your viens.
jelousy constricts my throat,
leaving ugly purple bruises.

i sit down,
on a sunny day,
and try to create my own roots.
trying to reverse the years,
to the days when i was young.
but as i write,
i find that i can no longer access the part of me
that saw the shapes in the clouds.
oh! how i miss those days of adolescence.