Empty swing sets, swaying and breaking
under the winter we refer to as aging,
memories drifting away down a river
where laughter is endless and flowers don't wither.
Some friends leave, becoming strangers
and they teach you that in feeling is danger.
You share with those remaining tears instead of smiles,
but inside each, a doubt, a fear of being hurt,
love becoming scarce,
fear becoming common,
clouds in our minds as well as the sky
keeping us cold and in the dark.
Some fall to the jaws of society,
the murder they call suicide.
Everyone has scars
from the war
that is age
and innocence lost.
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