The carousel is old, but still it turns Will it succumb to time eventually The gears will rust and rotten wood still burns I try my best to set the horses free
The carousel played music made of joy But now it skips through songs like broken glass A ghostly little girl and ghostly boy At times appear when living children pass
A spooky shortcut to a different time It marks another place where fear is found As if the joy it knew was just some crime And still it’s old, and still it turns around
The carousel is old and we are too The ghosts of kids we see are me and you.
This entry was posted on Sunday, October 13th, 2024 at 12:04 pm and is filed under Images, Sonnets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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