The Swing

Every day, I go outside to see the playground small.

And every day, I go outside and see that crumbly wall.

 

Every day, I walk beside those flowers dying, dead.

And every day, I think about the life that I have led.

 

Every day, I see that swing, swinging on its own.

And every day, I wonder why it swings towards my home.

 

Every day, t swings alone, of its own accord.

And every day, I get quite scared of the vision of our lord.

 

Every day, I go to see what it might have been.

And every day, I get confused, of what I might have seen.

 

For it was not our lord, and it's not a swing.

It's simply a children's toy.

But I feel the spirit, living there

As if wanting to be found.

Reviews

[Cassidy Mask]

lovely lovely lovely LOVELY imagery :)
I like the picture in my head of a wooden swing attached to a tree and swinging softly under the green canopy of leaves, faint images of childhood appearing and disappearing like ghosts and then the slightly different image of the HOLY ghost standing to one side... lovely :)
But that's just what i saw... i know u said playground but i guess i just mentally ignored that part...
:P

[Eira Anchor]

yessiree I like it! I like swingsss and i just love the whole poem (:

[Tina Kline]

This is a very well written poem with excellent rhyming and visuals. I really like
that the poem asks a question, though I am not quite certain what
that question might me, it's interesting to think about it.

Tina