The Dream is Gone.

I do not know how or when the winds changed upon that child, excitable, full of hopes, dreams and the notion that anything in the universe was possible.

All he had to do was dream it up, think it into being, and he knew he could manifest it; the idea, the concept, the fantasy. Where did it go? I seek to find such an elusive gift. But it was all but gone.

Hunted and chased away, by those that misplaced, their forlorn intentions that withered on the vine of their youth. Turning them into ghastly, decaying, effigies of their former selfs. So they turn on the youth of the next generation.