Rusted Witness

A poem

I am the rusted swing set in the abandoned playground, my chains creaking with each gust of wind. Beneath the flaking red paint, I was once a vibrant centrepiece where children’s laughter filled the air. Now I stand obsolete, a relic of joyful times long past.

Blades of grass poke through the cracks in the pavement, reclaiming this space of forgotten memories. I watch in silence as seasons change from the corner of the lot where I rest. Withered leaves accumulate in my seats until a rare child comes to play, only to be whisked away again.

At night, I become a twisted gym for stray cats and creatures who make their home here. They slink along my bars, leaving claw marks in their wake. Yet I remain transfixed to this Earth, bearing witness to the cycle of deterioration and renewal unfolding before my unblinking eyes.

Though my painted smile has faded, I continue my steadfast vigil. Perhaps one day, the echoes of children’s mirth will grace this place again. Until then, I am the guardian of this small patch of desolate dreams and abandoned echoes of the past.