The Puppet With a Broken Heart
He is cocooned in a case as black
as a moonless night.
He slumbers without rest,
pinioned by arms of time,
released only by her flesh and blood.
Now summoned by her hands, he struggles to life,
dancing to her tune,
played with perforced, rhymed meters...and she smiles.
His black feckless eyes peer into crowds,
his head turning to see- yet blind.
Boneless limbs jerked to life, pulled by strings,
lips parting-breathless- gasping-
longing for touch, but cannot feel.
His silent burden yearns to wail like a
mistress discarded in the night- yet speechless.
Her words spoken, echoed in his
hollow chest...and she smiles.
Had he a soul, it would beckon freedom,
an abandoned tomb from endless journeys
traveling roads to nowhere, into foreign worlds
teething on hope, to taste the sweet nectar
of a new destiny.
Oh to hear the racket and
clatter of life- yet deaf.
His performance is ended, now to be crumpled
into the ebony vault. She brushes dust from his
sleeve and his heart tumbles to the floor...and she smiles.
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