Age-wrinkled grey eyes,
chapped lips puckered in sour disappointment.
Their ancient minds only remember
sweet, sweet fruit and perfect afternoons;
lush fields and friendship infinite;
a blissful world unbothered.
"The old times," they say, misty in reminiscence-
"There was beauty and joy, darkness was coy,
We loved freely and loudly and blissfully,
wanting for nothing, nothing at all."

"Your world has gone to hell now,
with children too sad and too weak
to bear with the new burdens of life."

To them, the happiness of old
has depreciated, gotten lesser;
but we know the truth-
the veil of perfection's been lifted,
brutally visible to them now-
but their past still remains obscured by
the fog of memory
that only lets in the light.