Poetry Forum
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8/23/2011 5:57:51 PM
Christopher Roberts
Posts: 2
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I am just a slave to you, mindless to the strings. From sunrise to sunset I dance upon this wooden set. My limbs and body are made of oak, so is the case in which I spoke. The places I go, the people I meet. It kind of makes this life somewhat neat. Though my day's work may be done, I search the star filled skies lusting for more fun. One day the cart skips a beat and out I go onto the street. The young children once playing ball stopped to look at me in great awe. My stage once wood is now worn out cobblestone and the tots are grabbing my strings. Can I say that I am free? Must this be fate that's granted to thee? The tugging now becomes peace and the children head in for a bite to eat. Once again I'm alone on the street. Will this be the end of me? My master now returns, relieved to have me back. He cuddles me and cradles me, and then it's back into the case I go.
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