Overgrown Playground

    It once was a place where children laughed, their imaginations shared and dreams explored. It use to be the norm for small shoes to race across its grounds in glee, small hands to grasp at the metal arms of a structure that once stood tall. Today there is no laughter, no small feet to tread the once kept grounds. But there is a new life that grows here, plays here, is known here. It stretches its long green arms to reach those of metal decorating the structure with leaves and thorns. It's frame is painted in the shadows cast by the neighboring unkempt trees, it's lower half is hidden in the blades of a now towering meadow. It whispers a new story that no one else can hear. One of life that goes untouched by human eyes. One with creatures that crawl and creatures that fly, Blossoms that bloom and weeds that consume. It is voiced by the vocals held by those with feathered wings, the steady hum of those that crawl out of sight and the gentle whistle of the wind that still combs through this place. The structure that once served beings of mankind, rejected by the same now is held tight by the earth once built on. Its frame embraced by the warmth of the new life that grows among it. Hidden in the shadows of this embrace no human eye can any longer catch glance of the structure they once knew. What was only lost in memory is now lost from sight altogether. Never again will children of man share their imagination  and dreams at this place that was once theirs. Life continues but it does not remain our own.