It's A Big World, After All Poem by Sophia White

The world is so big.

My crayon sketchings of what I once thought the world to be
Are like a single lily fallen upon the entire sea.
The cerulean sky I had scrawled with such eager anticipation
Is nothing like that gray-blue whiteness now above me,
And slowly a static numbness replaces my former elation.

The world is so big.

The trees are not the brown I thought they were before,
Nor do they have a dozen green leaves – nay, hundreds more!
The birds are not M’s and the houses don’t have triangular roofs.
The people aren’t two dimensionally simplistic anymore.
This old Crayola depiction has become more of a spoof.

The world is so big.

Now I have to write with mechanical pencils and ballpoint pens,
And they have no color to speak of in them.
They write in a strange blackish-gray, the color of the pavement,
A color that I did not have in my box, back then,
A color that hid, I suppose, in the darkest corner of the darkest basement.

The world is so big.