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Sunday, 26 March 2017

[Poem] Rust of the Swings

The fresh breath of the air 
After rain, and the flower, 
The leaves, the familiar 
Scents so clear, 
Crisp and sharp, 
The rust of the swings. 

The slow pace 
Of a house 
Surrounded by stone, 
Grass, sand and time 
Passed by far too slowly, 
Smiles too, came easily. 

That was the life we had, 
And I want so bad; 
When the young and the old, 
Living hand in hand, 
So happy, 
And ghosts were still people. 

The turning of the pages, 
Of photographs with ages, 
Brings about heartaches, 
As memories 
Bring the past alive, 
Recounting our losses.

Copyright © WinePoetess 2017

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