The colours of blue and green and yellow and red dance in the wind while the swirling crunching browns fly off the ground like a spirit leaving the tomb. Grey hares scamper through the crumbling underbrush and a squirrel widdles away at a rotting chestnut somewhere in the trees. The bees search for a place to rest their wings for winter as children secretly sneak into the nearby woods to play in the colours.
Those poor children who never get to experience the freedom of emotion, or the liberation of the mind...Those whose eyes are vacant of expression but underneathe they're really scared and need the assurance that what they do is right or wrong. How else do they learn anymore if their parents can't set a good moral for them to stand by and believe in? Those kids that all they ever really wanted to do was to shout with joy about how happy they were. Now to the silence of an unwanted pill.
Thank God I don't have children.
