Tractor wheels and carousels,
Children screaming in enjoyment,
I sit alone on the swing
And no one notices,
So I swing
Higher,
Higher,
Hoping someone will see me,
Take an interest, want to know me,
But they never do.
One day, whilst watching them play
I start hearing words,
Rhythmic, rhyming strings that sound
Like a symphony to my soul
And they become my companions,
My comfort.
Later at university
I realise there are
Many others,
Each one on their swing,
Comfortable on it,
Swinging high and creating beauty
And I know
There is a place for me,
That
There
Always
Was.

Copyright Hiraeth 2015
PAD Challenge 2015 Day 17:
For today’s prompt, write a swing poem. Sure, there are park swings and mood swings; there’s swing music and swing dancing; and there are swingers. Some people swing one way; others swing another. In politics, there are swing votes and swing states. And many people have swung a bat, an ax, and/or a hammer in their lifetimes.