The Playground and The Cemetery

A poem I wrote about coming to terms with death

The Playground and The Cemetery

Bright.

Bright yellow.

A child’s laughter,

Pierces the autumn evening,

Wind chimes in the dying embers,

Of this day,

Bright yellow,

The slide is bright yellow,

He ventures down,

Into the depths,

The depths of it’s beauty,

Creaking,

The creaking of the swings,

To and fro,

To and fro,

A child’s joy,

The flower of life.

Spreads it’s petals.

On this day.

2.

The dead,

We are the dead,

As McCrae said,

We see the child,

We straddle the edge of this playground,

We inhabit the darkest recesses of man,

We clutch our crucifixes,

The savior,

Rotten in our bony hands.

We see the child,

We see all.

We are the undiscovered country,

As the son of the king said,

So eloquently.

The child laughs,

And we watch,

And wait.

Life,

Stripped away,

An eternal slumber,

Eternity,

An endless time to watch,

We see the child,

And we would cry,

If we could,

If we were able,

One day,

One day my son,

Until then,

We will wait,

And listen,

And maybe even,

Dream.