A Special Place

(A poem with a really sick twist. Sorry if it’s not really clear. But I digress. On with the poem~)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The rustling and dancing of the leaves

Sways with our movements

As we clamber up the White Mountain

To wash away our remorse and pain

.

We see where the weird, grayish mountain stands

With its white, strange-looking sticks and stones

And we all run towards it, hand in hand

To the place we call our own

.

All our problems disappear in that simple place

We dance with the movement of the winds

As it cuts through our skins

We play catch, hide and seek, and chase

With no one to tell us what to do

We are free, we can be true

We chase along the pale, cracked stones

We run and run, knowing we’re not alone

And we finally come down the red-stained path

Tired and dirty, but happy, we all laugh

.

A few years later, the place was finally forgotten

We grew up, and had our own lives then

The years passed by, and the white mountain crumbled

Back to where it came from

Then our special place was finally gone

.

I had asked my mother about it

And she responded rather slow

She sighed, pursed her lips, and told me what she knows

I wasn’t expecting that much about it

But all her revelations shocked my whole soul

.

“That wasn’t actually a mountain.” She said

But we didn’t want you to know

That the special place you were playing on

Were actually bones of the dead.”

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