The Empty Swing Set

The empty swing set creaks tonight,
A lonely song beneath the streetlights' hum.
It's not just the wind, I swear, that pushes it,
But the ghost of laughter never come.

I watch from my window, a comfortable perch,
Sipping cheap wine, feeling vaguely ashamed.
Because the park is right there, a splash of green,
But not everyone gets to play the same game.

Little Maria, with her hand-me-down shoes,
Stands at the edge, watching the others run.
Her mother works two jobs, barely scraping by,
There's no time for play, the damage is done.

And Michael, dark-skinned and quick to smile,
Gets followed by security, even here.
His joy is suspicion, his freedom curtailed,
By eyes that see only what they fear.

The other kids, oblivious, chase and shriek,
Privilege painted on their carefree faces.
Their parents watch on, relaxed and secure,
Unaware of the invisible traces

Of bias, of system, of the heavy weight
That some children carry from the very start.
It's not about blame, not entirely anyway,
It's about a broken, unequal heart.

I remember being young, naive and blind,
Thinking fairness was a natural thing.
But life has a way of peeling back the layers,
Showing the rot that the system can bring.

I want to scream, to shake them all awake,
To make them see the invisible walls.
But words feel useless, hollow and weak,
Against the indifference that enthralls.

So I sit here, watching the empty swing,
And the children who can't quite reach its height.
Knowing my comfort is built on their struggle,
A flickering candle in the fading light.

Maybe tomorrow I'll do something real,
More than just write poems and feel sad.
Maybe tomorrow I'll find the courage to speak,
To fight for the futures these kids should have had.

Maybe tomorrow, the swings will be full,
Of laughter that's equal, honest, and true.
But tonight, the creaking is all I can hear,
A lament for the childhoods stolen from view.

The moon hangs heavy, a silent witness,
To the quiet injustice that festers and grows.
And the empty swing set keeps swaying gently,
A promise unkept, as everyone knows.

It's more than just swings, more than just play,
It's the future we're stealing, day after day.
The weight of this knowing, it settles deep down,
Like a stone in my stomach, wearing a frown.

So I'll keep watching, keep hoping, keep trying,
To build a world where all kids are flying.
And maybe, just maybe, one day I will see,
A park where everyone plays equally free.