The place for writers: Upload your writing in minutes, receive peer feedback from other writers, poets, authors, then get your work published out there in the real world. Learn how other writers are doing it.
the playgrounds are empty
a rusted swing chain creaks
sandbox swirls misbegotten dustdevils
burying cracked plastic pails and trucks and shovels
all the children have skittered towards home
a light smoky ash falls
upon crisp brown blades of grass
withered, seared, still bravely standing
waiting for rain
scattered amid crumbled buildings
and fire-scorched streets
fragile corpses reach for
one more breath of sunlight
winter arrived in fury knowing spring
would not relieve it
but it is dry, dead winter
not a winter of sleep—there are none left to sleep
the day dies before dawn and
night died before twilight
lazy gray smoke wafts heavenward
where god used to dwell
souls were traded
peace made at last
Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
I like the title and idea for this poem. You had the whole idea mapped out and expressed it nicely. I'm not sure if I could have done half as good as you on a topic like this.
