Blurbs and Stuff

Lost

I know where I am,

I've been here before.

But where are the street signs?

Have we gone through a war?

I've seen that bench,

Stared at that tree over there.

I can't help but wonder,

Where?

I know that building,

The bricks, the mortar in between.

I've seen those rails,

The way the sunlight gleams.

I think I remember that pool,

Drying out in the sun.

The laughter from long ago,

A distant echo of fun.

I think I know these buildings

The curve of the sidewalk

But where are the children?

The ones who make paintings in chalk?

I must have swung on those swings as a child.

How did I forget those moments,

When my imagination ran so wild?

I remember these buildings now,

The curve of the sidewalk

We were the children,

That made paintings in chalk.

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This poem is called Lost, because originally, it was about an amnesiac (someone with amnesia) remembering their old hometown. But as I wrote more and more, (yes, I did write this while I was supposed to be watching Trump and Hilary talk over the moderator in Social Studies) it kinda became a metaphor for childhood and how adults tend to forget and all that cliche-ness.

Anyways, it's part of the Poetry unit in my Creative Writing Workshop class, and I'm hoping to get a good grade. Constructive criticism/any type of feedback would be great!

Picture Source in external link. (P. S. I have a tumblr follow me if you want terrible posts at stuck-on-the-internet.)