Three miles off the highway

On rocky road terrain

Stands a grove of Aspen

’Mong the Pine and Evergreen

The curve reveals a clearing

Just beyond the top

Trail head six-four-seven

We call it “The Swing Spot”

Elk and deer walk quietly

To water at the hole

Set further back and hidden

From the narrow forest road

Where from an age-old tree

Suspended forty feet

Two ropes drop below

To a two-by-four made seat

The glide seems everlasting

Floating and at peace

It's as though your weightless

There among the old Oak trees

Where not a sound is heard

Except the subtle crick

Of the ropes across the branch

Like a metronome, it ticks

And the echoing of birds

Harmonized with song

Calling one another

And even, still, I long

To feel again, like a little girl

This gift left by a stranger

That brought us so much joy that day

And kept my heart to linger

Secret places, like this swing

I find my paradise

And when I’m feeling troubled

I’ve my own mind’s eye

To fly upon the breeze

And float above my worries

That I, alone, can’t pass through

No matter how I scurry

There I find the perfect pace

The pump; my mind aloft

For the world that pushes at me

I push back at my swing spot

Where shadows lay, there, long

With the sun behind my back

The place I fly away to

Where my tension finds its slack

The ever dazing state of this republic manifests storms beyond passion and below hate.

In her dreams the world comes closer to its inevitable doom,

Within her gaze there is a star that blinks; with very little hesitation.

In his eyes the flood of light endlessly scoffs at what remains of his vibrant tapestry.

Demolished by the perpetually inflamed cosmos, they enter a fairytale state, a moment of absolute stasis, and dissolve.

Fear continues to simmer, the anxiety that held them down like gravity, was on to an isle.

She was lost in his livid planet,

when she asked: “what scaths you so?”

He responds: “The loneliness traps me, and corrupts me...”

In this world exist where his and her happiness go, when the hour is nearing enclosement, the gates flush all that kept them alive.

“In my sleep I look to the ceiling, that’s where bitterness derives.

When I hear the minute tremors excavate, that’s where it is I dive, when it is not you and I.”

The bed of flowers grow outwardly in a ray of purple and pink, the rose’s scent is the nectar of the tiny Gods.

When I look east, I see the sky casting a spell,

when I peak west, the titans collide.

O’er the oceans I scream

O’er the mountain I feel the witch’s temperament blow to me

O’er the velvet soil I retain the woe from yesteryear.

I call this place by feet Oceanside.

I sit in the lap of nature,

However demure,

And it always shows me a feature,

To turn around any failure.

I go the beach nearby,

To sit and occupy,

To watch and signify,

What they testify.

The sky and the sea magnify,

Makes me fortify,

After they mollify,

They make me ratify.

Spewing sea and the brewing storm,

Is not the norm.

The sky shows the platform,

For any transform.

The mountains show me resilience,

The breeze bring deliverance,

Buds showing resurgence,

Flowers scent the fragrance.

The nature in all its splendour,

Sets ample examples in grandeur,

Guides all my endeavours,

Taking no favours.