Ghost Town
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For Hilo Poet's Alexandrine poetry contest.
Syllables checked via www.howmanysyllables.com.
Slant/near rhymes used.
As memories scatter in echoes of laughter. I recall childhood dreams now lost among old trees. Hope once ran free and wild, but now I just feel tired. A playground of conflicts, which no longer exists. Sharp slides, see-saws and swings, where we fought with bare fists. They built posh apartments, dull, ugly and heartless. We weren't high achievers, as we had bad teachers. Now our school's a care home, where many die alone. But the graveyard is full, whilst the church seems obscure. The shop where we bought sweets - a homeless man now sleeps. Some say it's the owner, who became a loner. Closure meant he lost trade, became bankrupt, but stayed. Streets look so untidy, faces that seem shady. Homes are in disrepair, life seems a bit unfair. Time is abrupt with change, but reflections remain. Even when we move on, we think of life foregone. Your past is what your breathe, no matter where you reach.
As memories scatter
in echoes of laughter.
I recall childhood dreams
now lost among old trees.
Hope once ran free and wild,
but now I just feel tired.
A playground of conflicts,
which no longer exists.
Sharp slides, see-saws and swings,
where we fought with bare fists.
They built posh apartments,
dull, ugly and heartless.
We weren't high achievers,
as we had bad teachers.
Now our school's a care home,
where many die alone.
But the graveyard is full,
whilst the church seems obscure.
The shop where we bought sweets -
a homeless man now sleeps.
Some say it's the owner,
who became a loner.
Closure meant he lost trade,
became bankrupt, but stayed.
Streets look so untidy,
faces that seem shady.
Homes are in disrepair,
life seems a bit unfair.
Time is abrupt with change,
but reflections remain.
Even when we move on,
we think of life foregone.
Your past is what your breathe,
no matter where you reach.
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2024
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