Do not spare my naive heart from being crushed
By the harsher realities of what is and what will be,
I have lived long enough in oblivious innocence
I have worn the lenses of idealism when I should have seen
The truth in all of its abrasive, gritted glory
I have closed my ears to the sound of imminent catastrophe
Choosing instead to hear hope ringing through empty halls.
Do not spare my naive heart from understanding
What it must to allow the natural course of life to flow,
For I can live a whole life subsisting off of dreams
Floating like a cloud through a wasteland of lost opportunities
And in blissful oblivion, I would never know.
The Therapy of Words 