Little Red Swing
Each step a bit colder.
Every breath, a little shorter.
Down a path, not so different from before.
It's familiar yet un-cared for.
Stones and bones lay thin and worn,
though they do not forget their prior form.
Unsteady marching is lifted with pride,
as ghostly children run past the eye.
Every moment makes them grow older and bolder,
it matters not that the mind may be disordered.
Sounds of swinging fill the air- Halfway there.
A tree stands in the middle of nowhere.
Another heart caved to its bark,
it seems everyone must leave a mark.
The little red swing should've be hanging by a string.
The little red swing should’ve lost all of its gleam.
Yet strong it stands, unwilling to decay,
its core is not something to be thrown away.
Fingers grip tightly knees buckle slightly.
Flying, soring, freedom grasps ever so tightly.
Flowers bloom and birds sing in pairs.
Warmth fills the air as it shaves the white ground bare.
This must be bliss,
nothing is amiss.
About this poem
I thought about age, how quickly time passes, and how greatful I'am for the time I still have. I wanted to incase this in a poem, and so The Litte Red Swing came about.
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Written on November 21, 2022
Submitted by animalisticpride on December 27, 2022
Modified on March 30, 2023
- 58 sec read
- 46 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | AABBCDEFAGHHIIJKLLMMNHOO |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 978 |
Words | 194 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 24 |
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"Little Red Swing" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/147993/little-red-swing>.
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