suspended by a rope,
a tire swings in the rain
it reminds me of a noose
and how I want to hang
but I remember how in childhood
(when bad wasn't bad, and all was good)
I would spin on the tire swing,
staring up at the blue sky and cotton clouds
and watch the leaves dance off the tree branches
and listen to lullabies of the birds--
if a rope found it's way around my neck
and I swung and spun like I used to--
then I wouldn't see that beauty anymore
