BLANKINGS

BLANKINGS

Nothing has changed to that water broken over fertile ground. 
An evolution of smiles that will never come.  Metamorphose stunted; drawn
flat as the horizon.

Laughs bear a similar fate; never to be experienced - decisions too late. Adoration is sewn shut,
voices halted before ever being heard; stunted by nursery rhymes remote; little faces never to feel
a pout. 

Blame the wind amuck, throwing decaying leaves slicing as knives across the face. Children inside peer
at me without. A broken swing set's dangling seat and chains spotted with rust but still
pushed gently by my fingers. 

They inside run about, backing away from the glass.  Pulling away from their little peerings out;
away from the strange Stranger who looks back, wanting to understand a busted
swing without.