The swing stands as a monument

entombed in powdered rust

its tired, well-worn frame

contains memories of our trust.

-

The monument stands for sorrow

for events which occurred long ago

We’ll never see the morrow

our names now so few know.

-

A frosty breeze now rocks the swings,

and back and forth they sway

by the radiant moonlight,

ghost children come to play.

-

The ancient chains mimic their shrieks

as the children frolic with delight

We mutely watch them from afar,

as though we’re filled with fright.

-

Tonight we seek to join them,

our debt has long been paid,

from innocence long taken,

and impossible promises made.

-

Slowly now we do approach,

what have we left to lose?

Shadows of our former selves,

finally paid our dues.

-

One last time we slowly swing,

ghost children gather ‘round.

a fond nostalgia grips us,

reveling in peace at last found.

Note: Sorry if this makes no sense to anyone else, I just hold a fondness for it, maybe you'll like it too? Please review and tell me what you think... ;)