Boy
I see the small boy, joyfully sliding down the wooden incline The fence around which used to bar all passage without instructions from a giant The swing where he used to twirl on the seat The blue chains constricting with every spin I see the tattered wooden sand box Where equipment use to move the earth with the power of childish hands, And the sand use to run through the small stumps on the palm I see the raised center A small platform Small, but elevated just enough to hold dreams of conquers Powerful creatures rallying support of armies before doing battle I see the weathered rope ladder onthe wooden frame beyond Where the boy used to climb up and up, Rejoicing at every level achieved. The large silver bolts that hold it together Which used to be twisted and turned as if gauges on a mighty vessel. I see the slide house, still red in it's glory Where young solders hid and planned their attack I see the small boy playing I see the child creating his own world Yet I see the boy leaving the grounds And then I see the empty toys of childhood No boy remains Written March 3rd, 2002 © on Mar 02 2002 03:20 PM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"I see the small boy, joyfully sliding down the wooden incline..."