Strings
A lonely fiddle, its strings once taut tense and
stretched, waiting to be tuned and played.
The limp horsehair bow, longs to be tightened
and drawn in sweet reverberations.
A grounded kite, too long flightless -
too long not tethered to laughter
and coaxed to fly in a summer sky
on the breath of smiles.
A forgotten puppet - still strung;
a keepsake perched like an ornament
that never moved, never danced and
never brought smiles nor tears
to those with inimitable imaginations,
waits patiently for a child to say,
"Daddy, will you help him dance once more?"
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment