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Desolate Land MAG
At dawn a ghostly mist descends upon the deserted playground.
It floats among the empty tottering swings as if it were
a lost and wandering spirit,
Yet this is its home as it was meant to be.
The hope of sunshine never touches this dark place within
And no mother dares let her child play here anymore.
It is a forlorn looking place
For what is a playground without the presence of laughing,
A bitter winter-like chill always penetrates the suffocating
And if one were to come here they would find it impossible
to stop shivering, yet it is not only from the cold.
It is a strange and mystical place, an unnatural world.
The once-vibrant shining red slide has become ruined with
Only chipped red paint remains on the metal surface,
The rest has been captured by the wind and taken to a
No enchanting colorful flowers bloom and green grass has
not grown here for years.
Patches of brown, wilted, dead grass are scattered among
the abandoned ruins.
The rest is the kind of soil you would find in an old graveyard;
Dry, ominous, spiritless earth.
There is no life here,
Just cold twisted metal and a blanket of eternal gloom.