LAURA KARNIVA

There's an imposter in the playground,

On my favourite swing.

I'm waiting on the roundabout, 

To behead the concrete King.

 

They're heroes of the desert, 

Masters of the sea.

I have no right to be here, 

They need to set me free. 

 

For they are only children, 

Thus they deserve all,

But I'm too old to merrymake, 

And my legs are far too tall. 

 

A hopscotch of problems, 

Leading to a fatal end. 

Let's leave it for the grown ups, 

Whilst we play perfect pretend. 

 

You become who you want to be,

I'll run from the imaginary fiends, 

We'll fashion pie out of mud, 

Create our faces in the leaves. 

 

But I cannot taint the playground, 

With tales of woe and sin.

So I'll watch behind the barrier, 

While the imposters play within.

 

I used to love that silver slide;

I dreamt it gave me wings, 

And in my head, I'm five years old,

Still sitting on that swing.