Swing Sets

     My favorite form of writing is poetry and April happens to be the National Month of Poetry. Therefore, I’ve decided to post my first poem on this blog. This particular poem was written at 4am one night when I couldn’t fall asleep. I’ve always been enchanted by swing sets for reasons I’ve never understood. I was at the park one day when I noticed swinging didn’t quite have the charm it once used to. As a child I was never so aware of my distance from the ground. I was never so conscious of the possibility of falling. I used to swing with reckless confidence, having no notion of danger or fear. I would get as high as I could. Often times so that I could jump off from the top. This, to me, was as close as I could get to actually flying. I was unaware of the ground. I only thought of those split seconds in midair. I only thought of flying. Somewhere along the way I came to the knowledge of my very real chance of falling. I stopped swinging as high as I could. I stopped jumping off of swing sets. I stopped being able to fly.

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Swing Sets

Can we, if just for a moment, go back to swing sets?
When knees were bruised instead of hearts

When we jumped
Never fell,
But always flew.
Before we fell for fear of falling,
a thing we never knew.

Before the laws of gravity applied,
When the ere of an heiress reigned in our gentle stride.

We were limitless,
Only bound by how high we chose to fly.
Nothing could stop us
Not the stars, not even the sky.


Oh, curse the day we grew aware
Our eyes opened, our ears able to hark.
Such painful irony

That when we saw the light,
We’d found the dark.

In consciousness our immortal hope
found its eternal grave,
When hero finally encountered that foul, treacherous knave.
His name being fear,
His intent being the same.
He lives within the mind
Making even strong men lame.

Thus our eyes were opened,
Finally, we saw the “truth”.
Our hearts were broken,
The day we fell from youth.
Through conscious sight we saw our dangerous world,
The seams of this fabricated dream tore, came unfurled.

Then with open chests and missing hearts
We walked and wept.
Forgetting the Lord
Whom thus far our souls had kept.
Aware, “enlightened”
Yet too dim to rise, to fight
We foresaw the waves of loss, crashing, growing in mountain-like height.
In cowardice indignation, we refused, we dared not swim
Dreading death, fearing failure, we rebelled to trust in Him.

Perhaps it’s only in mid air that we can sprout our wings
Flying, soaring, completely unconcerned with grown up things.
And maybe it’s only the blind,
Who can really see
For childlike faith ne’er doubts, but always willingly believes .

Can we, if just for a moment, go back to swing sets?
When we were chased by winds instead of fears,
The fear of failure ne’er touching our virgin ears.

Can we be blissful, once more, in our hope-filled ignorance?

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