The swings on the swing set are all broken.
I see them at twilight when I walk.
The wind pushed the empty winds
And they squeak quietly, almost inaudibly
As if remembering a time when the children once were happy.
The wind subsides and the squeaking fades
Like the light that slowly dies
Clinging to the mountains in a final gasp of agony.
The tragic music grows so quiet I don’t notice when it’s
gone.
I’m left alone in the silence feeling as if a part of me is
missing.
The wind picks up and rattles the swing again.
The broken swing begins to flail.
It’s flipping back and forth, trying to swing but I can’t.
As if it’s trying to regain something that it was, but can
never be again.
A time that has long since ended.
Reliving a memory, but it’s broken and only half of what it
was.
A single, desperate squeak pries from the broken screws.
It’s begging “Please, please please,”
This poem is beautifully crafted. I love the memory and the personification of the swings. They way they cry isn't cheesy and it isn't... I have completely blanked on the word. ...yeah. Well. I'm sure you know what I mean. (If you don't, oh well.)
ReplyDeleteThe only thing I found ever so slightly confusing was the 'wind pushed the empty winds' line. I think it doesn't flow as well... though I still like it. Don't feel inclined to change it.
I do love the first two lines, with the twilight line, and the 'when children once were happy' gives me chills.
It's a wonderful poem, and I love reading it.
Yep, that was a typo. The line is supposed to say: "Wind pushed the empty swings"
ReplyDelete