Playground

Like psychedelic stars,
shards of glass sparkle,
on the expanse of black tar.

Yet less than a few feet away,
a puddle glows like liquid gold
under the afternoon sun's rays.

Shouts and laughter blur behind,
Car horns and shrieking whistles,
As cacophonous conversations collide.

Yet birds still trill their melodies,
Barely audible unless you are listening,
their music flowing from the trees

The jungle gym spreads,
the rungs caging us in,
steel branches overhead.

Yet we can soar past the clouds.
On the swings we fly,
To the farthest reaches of imagination.

The world is only black and white.
Some things sit in dark,
others in light.

Yet sometimes, under the slide,
Grey shadows cover those who walk,
Between the woodchip lines.