Empty Rhythm

Two chains sing a hollow tune,

swinging soft beneath the moon.

Empty seats in fading light,

swaying slow, forget the night.

The violet sky leans down low,

shadows stretch and softly grow.

A squeak, a rattle, lonely sound,

silence hangs where kids aren’t found.

Ghosts of laughter left to rust,

the quiet is a kind of trust.

This empty rhythm rocks the past,

a moment’s breath too good to last.