children pass through playgrounds
like they travel through burgeoning life,
the way they drift from slide to swing—
never looking back, always ahead
and when they do turn their heads,
their eyes tell stories that are unique
to the realm of youth and vigor,
a thing that takes your breath away
so while they glide among jungle gyms,
the plastic and concrete and vinyl rising,
they don’t know to cherish the little things
that they will miss in the years to come
don’t be envious of the young and naïve,
because learning and growing hurt like hell,
and it’s something you would never want
to live over again, pendulums swinging
just watch them with open eyes and know
that their journeys from here will be strewn
with all the broken glass of adolescence,
lifetimes lived but forgotten as years go by
About the Creator
Jillian Spiridon
just another writer with too many cats
twitter: @jillianspiridon
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