i'm not sure why our minds drift like treeswings in the breeze

i'm not sure why our minds drift like treeswings in the breeze

spinning a slow and steady arc, lonely and creaking,
bereft of a body to fill that empty hole
through which blue skies always seem to appear,
even in the bruised, stormcloud gray of today

i'm not strong enough to always be strong,
but i can be lonely enough to feel like i'll always be lonely

the smell of autumn rain coalesces,
peppering the last remaining leaves in the branches,
toy soldiers beating loose wooden drums,
no rhythm or cadence to the swiftly growing din

the treeswing is a familiar memory, often frequented,
it's comfy, and warm, and predictable

despite the rain, a child approaches the pendulous weight,
chain tethers jingle gaily in the breeze ironically
there's no fanfare as the void is filled and the rain continues
there's no signal that it will end, but it does in a bolt of lightning

a boy runs,
the tire is empty again