Unused, Unexcused

Back and forth, back and forth. The swing moves to the motion of the wind as it winds its way through the air back and forth back and forth constant motion, going nowhere.
Rust clings to the top of the swings chain where it meets the wooden monkey bars. Green finger prints time tattooed to the metal clasps that rain will never wash away. They darken as night turns to day in the constant cycle of dark to light but when the sun shines bright these days it's only wind that swings the swing back and forth back and forth.
Tiny foot steps used to thump out the rhythm of childhood as toddlers would play in the warmth of each others smiles. Now all that's left is the sound of silence so loud it reminds them, the parents, of the days they'd wished the children would stop screaming as they played. My God, they'd had it backwards. Would have chosen to fast forward through the years where all "no's" were met with tears and tiny minds clung to silly fears of evil babysitters and monsters that inhabited the shadows beneath beds. They would have sped through the finger paint and hide and seek to days filled with the dust of memories, faded smiles and the echoes of long silenced laughter.
A swingset filled with the empty things that make up "After". Colored in shades of longing and rust. drawn out joy and forgotten trust.
Children grow too big for swings, too big for childhood and things out grown must be left behind. Though not destroyed, proof, to remind the world they once were used. Now abandoned but not excused from swinging back and forth, back and forth, but still unmoved.