Return to Innocence

Senses are fiction

The goodness of thought is lost on me

It hurts

It stings my brain with eager anticipation

I seek the truth

But it still eludes me

It finds me wanting

It shows itself as needed But then it hides

Far from anywhere

Genius is futile

It wears down the soul

And kills the spirit

Green leaves turn to brown from lack of hydration

Thinking is frustrating

And leaves me thirsty.