The tiara of innocence shining

On the forehead of childood

Is tarnished by invisible fingers

Of the shadows of sin

That Haunt the mortal silhouettes

Innocence glistens like dew drops

On the softness of floral petals

Like gems from Nature’s trousseau

Which are stolen by kleptomaniac fingertips

Of the aureate dancing sunbeams

Donned in gowns of golden silk

Innocence is like the shy rose bud

Its petals wrappedwithin sepals of ignorance

Innocence is like the baby breathe

That blooms in the artless smile

Of a sweet child oblivious to cunning

Innocence is the music of rippling cascades

Coming down the mossy slimy steps of hillsides

In the sweetness of saccharine honey

Dripping in golden drops from the bee hives

Or the lips of  the pink petals of lotuses

That simper in the blue green pools

In the melody of the mysterious nightingale

And the strains emerging from

The womb of a srummed guitar

But innocence loses its glow soon

The radiance faded, dulled away

Misted by craftiness and slyness

The past surreal beauty lost, evaporated

Or buried within the graves of dead virtue…