Para/Poem Challenge "Open"

Each tedious tike is a thaumaturge really.
No really.
Childhood wrings magic from dirty concrete.
It just needs a little space
Combined with the fizz of time.
Not too much time, though.
Wait too long
And all those miracles have no place to go.
The tendentious tizz of adult demands
Wear them away like water.
Tellurian depths lose their earth soul smell.
Then the concrete takes right over.