The razzle and dazzle of the playground was super fine
Fireworks popped and sizzled way past the skyline
The moon gave a wink, and the sun came to play
It was the most glorious of the best of every Tuesday
swirls and whirls in the sky lifted our hearts tall
We swinged up so high, most humans would fall
we had been blessed with Godmother’s pixie dust
No way we were falling, enjoying ourselves on the cusp
My companion was my brother, he was filled with glee
He said “call me silly, I don’t care, Sister She!”
It was a magical night, where everything fell into place
We accepted this fantasy, full of appreciation and grace.
Shut behind the door,believing in kinship
Forenoon the scars on mother paraylzed me
Every knife calling out as a saviour
The smiles seem a distant dream
Goblins dreams turned into a hell fire
Each passing day brought a despondent
Childhood poems swinged towards bruises..
When I was six
I didn’t know what the word suicide meant
I don’t even remember hearing it
I played with dolls and swinged in the park
I laughed loudly and had fun
When I was eight
I found out what suicide meant
And the word scared me
I played games on my phone and went to school
I laughed with my friends and studied
When I was ten
I knew what suicide meant
It was still an uncomfortable topic
I watched films and read books
I fought with my friends and family
When I was twelve
I realized suicide no longer scared me
The word started growing closer to me
I stayed home and felt empty
I had no friends and didn’t talk to my family
When I was fourteen
The word suicide was on my mind all the time
It began to feel like answer to my problems
I barely left my room and created lines on my arms
I had a best friend and hated my family
Now I am sixteen
And suicide is no longer just a word or topic
It lives in me and powers my mind
I struggle to leave my bed and lines on my arm multiply
I have no friends and my family is all I have left.
Those that shove past you, glare and scatter,
That drive the scares, in your wits and slither,
That smile and stare, at things you did master,
And then them that you will, lose and move,
Or through thicks, care for and pursue.
The bearers of the whips of black scythes,
Folded in turbulent evils of shaded blythes,
That wait in desires of you, to swift in myths,
And then bear of nothingness, the power of slices,
Unnerved by the struggles to free, from the swings and minces.
There are those that, in swears vow and plead,
Please with, in steps synching walk on paths,
That they laid in thorns, that they enroute,
And awaits them, in rounds, on routes.
Maintain the binds to them, in pomposity,
That you may, in silence, find prosperity,
In pretence, that with them, you are,
Swinged and minces from bites,
Of their evil, the scythe.
28/5/2022
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.