It Doesn't Hold.

Welcome, to the desolate swings

eternally waiting yet a little hopeful

let us fill their hopeless emptiness

with our own warped reality

Your tales of underground

in which I place myself dreamily

a faint smile is my day of glory

I've something to give to swings

this extinct language we speak

beyond all the grass laden fields

far off the constraints shrouded in love

permeating slowly, we are swinging

could we caress ephemerally

forgetting our obligatory guilt

let me stitch up that hovering doubt

coerce you tenderly in night

manifesting the words unsaid

clocks run out, altering the events

nobody knows or relates

pushed buttons, home too soon

true freedom concealed in loss

of everything, each day presents

a novel method for that fall

Now I know the way it unfolds

It doesn't hold.