Marionette
To be this
or that
some romantic folly
imaginary self
escaping
But what is
me
An addict of breathing
addicted to a turn about routine
an anchor of habits
a very sure thing
Or closed within a sepulcher
of me
To dreams aspiring
and Earth denying
each radiant of living
be brought to hollow
and conundrum anticipating
Each facile fantasy
of me
Spruced up in a million hypothesis
some liquorice tart demented
black oil, black oil of possibilities
and still
but to carry a leaf upon a breeze
This dagger in the ribs
of me
All strewn about my feet
and in boredoms capitulation
endlessly
I lurch and blunder marionette
through day light
Once there were wings
attached to me
The merry go round a merry go round
of me
Where was I ?
Oh yes
to be this
or that
some romantic folly
imaginary self
escaping
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2017
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