The park across from me,
two benches, a water fountain, engulfed in green.
the stories that patch has seen,
the drug dealers fighting, the tramps’ screams!
The kids playing there, kicking footballs, daytimes,
the older kids and their bottles and needles, nighttimes.
What a bipolar park this patch of green seems to be,
shiningly mellow, into manic depressive barking fright!
Happy during sunlight, deathly in the moonlight.
There’s a water fountain in the central area,
that hasn’t been replaced in years!
It’s old and rusty and brown,
its water causes tears!
But every now and then,
the men in white come,
to cut its grass,
and trim the trees.
They do it silent, they do it fast,
then they leave!
There’s life in the old patch yet,
And afterlife left too,
that haunted space, “Oooooooh”
no people have set foot there, ever!
Every sound of kids laughing, druggies yelling, birds chirping on that green patch,
has unknown origins, no real person’s ever walked that place,
It’s right across from my house,
the rats and the wildthings that come over in droves,
like to scurry and run amok in my garage,
but I must ignore them, they’re all a magical farce!
That green patch, we simply call “The Park”,
has a mystery around it demonic and dark,
It’s been around forever, according to local folklore,
I can’t wait to explore its ancient trapdoor!
The end.…or is it?