A poem
I am the rusted swing set
in the abandoned playground,
my chains creaking with each gust of wind.
Beneath the flaking red paint,
I was once a vibrant centrepiece
where children’s laughter filled the air.
Now I stand obsolete,
a relic of joyful times long past.
Blades of grass
poke through the cracks in the pavement,
reclaiming this space of forgotten memories.
I watch in silence as seasons change
from the corner of the lot where I rest.
Withered leaves accumulate in my seats
until a rare child comes to play,
only to be whisked away again.
At night, I become a twisted gym
for stray cats and creatures
who make their home here.
They slink along my bars,
leaving claw marks in their wake.
Yet I remain transfixed to this Earth,
bearing witness
to the cycle of deterioration and renewal
unfolding before my unblinking eyes.
Though my painted smile has faded,
I continue my steadfast vigil.
Perhaps one day,
the echoes of children’s mirth
will grace this place again.
Until then, I am the guardian
of this small patch of desolate dreams
and abandoned echoes of the past.
