Essence

Somewhere between the joy of childhood

And the responsibility of adulthood

We lose ourselves.

The freedom of innocence

Gives way to the trap of cynicism.

It's usually not one traumatic event

But a slow chipping away

That sculpts us.

Leaving our essence at the core

But buried by years of grime.

Till mid-life awakening

We see ourselves in photographs.

And maybe catch a glimpse

Of that former self.

Standing in front of the mirror

Washing away the wear of years

And trying to recapture

The joy of life.