This sound you are making
A fiddler plays.
A screechy joy. If one
That's highly strung!
Did you know that? Know this.
Boy, when a man
Chopin's weepy keyboard
A heart will hoard.
"He didn't return his shopping cart,
He parked right over the line,
And this guy doesn't use indicators at all,
He drives as though he is blind,"
Are some of the things she points out in this town,
Of what people do, post or say,
That really annoy the hell out of her,
Rubbing her up the wrong way,
But it's not like they're breaking any kind of law,
Using caps in every message they send,
They just do stuff that irritates her the most,
Do things that really offend,
Maybe it's her though, she's too highly strung,
Raging alone in her head,
Maybe she's being too much of a Karen,
Maybe Karen needs to go back to bed.
A CONVENT GIRL
This is the girl,
Who’s in a whirl,
Who came to the, Convent,
Looking despondent.
This is the nun,
Who’s highly strung,
Who started to lecture,
In spite, of her denture.
This is the Principal,
Who’s very strategical,
Who can dismiss,
If something’s amiss.
Then Mother Superior,
To whom we’re inferior,
Performs her role,
To reach her goal.
These then are the four,
Inside the door,
Of a truly despondent ,
Lady-like Convent
There once was a highly strung society maid.
Whose sole important passion was being afraid.
She spent twenty-three years inside,
From all kinds of people she'd hide.
Barricaded by choices few others have made.
What has become of you?
Evaporated like the morning dew
Strange darkness clouds your hue
What fuels this silent feud?
Heavily this weighs on me
Must I just let it be
If silence is good enough for you
I shall observe it too.
The memories are highly strung
Held captive in my head
Hostage is my tongue
The thoughts run wild instead
Your memories run deep.
Through my eyes blood seeps.
He could see her highly strung face
Behind the cloaked veil
A face taught to behold beautiful turbulent.
He could feel the shiver in her timid heart
And the fearful spasm
Running down her spine.
He held her hand and whorled the bangles
While hundred of foes
Opposing two hearts
Kept their eyes glued in line.
He stained her red;
By making that vermilion spread.
He jeweled her up with holy beads
And consecrated her with the garnet ink.
She devoted herself to him
When he adorned her nape
With the sacred tinsel tasseled thread.
He could see the love in her eyes for him
And with that sense of relief,
She embraced him tight
And said in a moist tone
As he kissed her lachrymose eyes,
'Our love will always bring the holy grail back.'
Feline
Highly strung
Hidden weaponry afoot
Pussy purr; sadistic slash ~
Masterstroke
Imprisoned by clammy apron strings
She squats amidst domestic disorder
Dirty dishes, smelly household linens
Blackened pots and foamy dishwater.
Hastily, she conjures breakfast on the table
While vigilantly eyeing the baby's cradle
A highly- strung neurotic woman
Nursing ghosts of high dreams and aspiration.
A docile victim whose world revolves around
The see-saw whims of her bossy husband
An egoistic peacock with a deficient IQ
Whose brutal hands are his magic wand.
...Pegged on the wall stained by grease
Hangs her college degrees.
Cast thy stone, like a fire climbing a tree,
highly strung, its fuel you need,
powerful, can carry a heavy load,
no question, a Fire Horse you be!
Inconsistent by nature, procrastinate but not in love,
your alluring beauty defined by a coat,
to cover with lust and a heart of gold,
fire burning inside, unbridled and afloat.
Motivated by a strength of will,
like the painter, color shining,
to create a picture from canvas,
it comes alive, the masterpiece is never blinding.
Fire Horse, free-willed, extraordinary,
an independent soul, sometimes forgetful are you,
your loathe of waste, drives you arbitrarily,
unwinding beauty, unenvious, you're never ice blue.
Oh ye Fire Horse, searing smoke in isle atoll,
galloping across the sea of life, fire heating the shore,
flames of love rising, burning within your soul,
a tsunami of devotion, your mane ablaze evermore!
From a tender age I felt a strain with my mother
She labelled me “highly strung” I irritated her!
I struggled through life, desperate for her affection
The harder I tried to please, the greater the divide.
She loved my brothers, I could never understand
Saddened, I turned to my father, he was my rock.
I chalked it down to not meeting her expectations.
Years passed, I ended the struggle with mother
I married and was blessed with children of my own.
Realising that each child is unique, so different
I wondered for years how this could be so......
They were both born from us, the same parents
We raised them with the equal values and norms
The opposites they are, never ceases to amaze me.
I love my children, embrace their individuality.
Encourage them to be free, to be just as they are.
My children will always be treated as equals
Loved unconditionally, I have no expectations
Forever proud of these two powers in my world
I remain in awe at the achievement of them!
Crushingly brutal, this wasting disease,
That it eats through me with increasing ease.
Oh, in the painful rigidity of lack luster limbs,
My mortal friend still fights, still clings,
As world passes by on the summer breeze.
Who would have thought I would suffer this young,
With a mortality so terse and highly strung.
Inside of a sickness, with it's wide open jaws,
I am gripped so tightly by it's hungry claws.
Yet I don't know how all this has begun.
Here I am fighting, again and again,
Just for the chance to feel alive once again.
Each moment of weakness, of faintness and ill,
I long for my mortal to bend to my will.
As I ask for my body to burden the strain.
So what it comes down to, my mortal and I,
My body is broken, yet no one knows why.
So, I cling to this life and it rejects my requests.
I suppose I am my mortal as mortality suggests.
But, surely I can fight. Surely I can try.
It is the girl in the car, on warm leatherette,
Who, in the Summer slipstream, teased the wheel
And gunned her engine heart;
She graced the passing furnace air, and angel sweat
Tracked slowly down her singing spine, for her to feel
Ignition spark and start.
And in her moistened loins the truth it rang
A clear and sensual focus, some chaste alarm
Forewarning her affirming stance;
She knew the throttle deviance, and words that hang
In glibness in a one track mind, such charm
Insinuate it's way into her pants.
She scanned the roads ahead, acknowledged fork,
Twin signs with arrows, nervous, highly strung,
And take a wilder stab at chance;
Procure the empty fast lane or get out and walk,
Race to cold and shallow sex and silver tongue,
Or ramble down the highways of romance.
The tumbling of the dice, herself to know,
When, the vulture Summer flying through,
Chilled in the Mustang embrace;
And remaining in the car, yet took it slow,
And holding on, and to herself be true,
And smiled within the smile upon her face.
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