Enmeshed in strings, spider-webs of silk,
Controlling my acquiescing arms, indolent and limp.
I have no thoughts, nor will, nor force
I cede without choice;
A fragile marionette on show.

I flounce on the twines of Fortune –
Disheveled with my abject apathy
With the strings, shams and shrieks
That tears my soul with painful dreams;
A wooden soul with hollowed griefs.

The circus lights and queer, brown eyes
Eager, as if, to watch my plight.
In strings I swing, a pendulum worn,
My movements maneuvered
By the Greatest Puppeteer of all.

22 January 2014


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