Beyond This Playground Of Life Poem by Mark Heathcote

Beyond this playground of life,
there is another merry-go-round.
There is another swing to lift
your tired feet off the hot tarmac ground
and take you to a place
you'll never be physically or-even-remotely found.
It's hide-and-seek, count-down.
But in truth, no one there is ever found.
You can sit idle on your throne
King or Queen of all that you survey,
quite alone and-no-one-will-ever
text or videophone, but that's
not to say you'll be there alone.
Someone will be quietly watching over you
like a cat-prowling to toy with you
not in any hurtful way either.
Simply because you can now never be lost
you are in a place, child of the lost-and-found.
A place that'll lift your tired feet off the ground
with no more downward, spiralling slides
with no more galvanised chains
to perform that awful, swishing sound
with no more whirring around and around.