Swings

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It is a glorious thing, a swing.
It makes you forgive and forget.
It gives you an imagination,
With the feeling of your heart lifting out of your chest,
A balloon pulling its strings gently.
There is something extraordinary about seeing the trees upside down,
And listening to the world
Rhythmically whooshing past your ears.
There is proof from the calluses on your hands.
Almost like subtle battle scars,
Explaining what you’ve been doing for hours.
Sometimes your face gets so close to the ground,
You can almost smell the musky dirt,
And the momentum brings you back to the sky again,
To heaven again.





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