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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ PREFACE : an old swing that once seated life now lays abandoned, encompassed within the confinement of wild,unkept backyard the old man is left with. for a person, who has been through every flavour of life, using this swing is a respite- a getaway from his aloofness. And, more than that _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ There's a swing in the backyard, that lies unkept, hidden that breathes through its cracks, yet remains dust laden it glides through the wild growths, the over-grown weeds, fireflies..in a cluster follow it along..as the wooden swing leads it touches the farthest twig of the tree..that extends to the starry sky leaping over the patches of green..witnessing the silence cry at night, the swing comes to life, when it occupies a lonesome soul. miles and high, it takes him along...and then, the memories unfold! the crimson memories flare up, come to life. and he's now amidst his childhood, its little games..and little lies but soon the mortal cloud of his memories break, and it begins to rain his watering-nostalgic eyes get so over-drenched ..that it seems hard to bear the pain another push, and the swing glides yet again. and now he(the person) is pushed back to the time..when he was slender, young and sane. those perfect strong shoulders, and a grit that cuts through steel soak him up in pride, as so empowered he feels. and then, again..the swing ceases to glide.. his memories begin to fade away..like on the sand, a relentless ocean tide. he catches his breath, as he prepares for one last ride he thrusts his feet onto the grassy patch, and there he goes again...he watches the swing taking him, rise. but this time, he laments the losses he has had, the times that could've been better the midnight moon penetrates through leaves, and on his swing it seems to scatter comes to a halt, eventually..his swing. his memories have made him hollow yet, another night...he'll kill his sleep, riding on the swing..shall rather watch the fireflies follow.
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