The Last Playgrounds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now comes the keystone of grand exposure-
Up there in the breathy fairytales of angels
Becoming demons:
Where the airplanes are real in a petting zoo
Combined with the elements-
Where the rocks grumble in the lightning as their
Very own species of men-
Where the skulls of wandered donkeys still
Lay grinning outside the minds
Beneath the unbelievable crosses
Beneath the peaks named after the greatest of
Men-
To the places where roses evaporate and the most
Cantankerous of kites spill
Over the barren and needle-point shoulders,
Laughing-
Where all of death laughs- the highest summits,
And the last playgrounds of kidnapped
And murdered children.