Swinging

Swinging

Swinging.

Swinging, the chains creak with rust,
The sky rocks back and forth
Clouds flowing gently along the breeze.

Swinging, legs pushing to greater
Heights, the world an umbrella.
The wind wooshes past, creating a
Cool blanket, surrounding the area.
Swinging.

The swings themselves groan with the use,
Having been abandoned by everyone
Else-but I.
A sanctuary created within the swings,
Left to its own devices, its own bidding

Voices fade away droning on
Like bees humming through fields.
Birds take no notices as they flutter
Defending unseen territories,
Dancing to a hidden tune.

The only focus is the sky,
Swinging higher and higher,
Till there is slack in the chains.
A goal never realized,
But always sought after,
Yet never reached entirely.

Satisfaction, betrayal, emotions buried,
Peace, serenity, the only things left.
Swinging, swinging,
Always swinging.

Swinging till the lights of a
far distant town turn off for the night.
Swinging till the owl’s hoot it’s
Arrival, a warning to mice.

Swinging till a name is carried
Faint and soft by the twilights breeze,
Swinging till a sigh passes through,
And a jump, free-falling from the sky,
Landing gracefully on two unwilling feet,
Who begin their unwanted journey,
Home, trudging softly,
Bent over like an old badger,
Waiting for tomorrow.

When the swings will welcome
Beckon untill once again,
I’m lost to sweet serenity.