The Moth Diaries, Poetry
Poem 34- Puppet (8)
like a puppet on a string
dances to the flow of the night,
to the breeze of the day.
choosing to be lead with the puppetiers hands,
choosing never to choose her path.
lays her life in lifes hands, resting wildly that fate
run its course.
resisting the turning of time,
shadow of day, slowly she writes her passions away.
painted face of golden, silver, red,
lashed eyes, burnished lips
nutty by taste, gentle by touch.
spinning through edges of thought, walking with
the blind, the deaf, the dumb
fingertips give sound to the light,
chasing away what may be,
may it be.
be it the puppet on the strings,
now we are free,
my puppet on her string.
© Lucy Griffin March05
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