Light, not Bright

Born amongst flowers,
cared for and cuddled.
Neither sadness nor pain
knew your name.

Then dawns the day,
when expectations are born.
Not aware are you
that a child grown is a child not.

And as small pleasures remain small,
nothing excites, nothing pains.
For all is old, not new.
The thrill of discovery
whips a poor lash
and time drags by.

You no longer care
for what you do
as do you
for what you are.