Strings

July 15, 2008
By Tim Gavan, South Setauket, NY

The sand keeps on slipping
As the pendulum swings
Living as puppets
Being yanked at our strings

Curtain falls to final curtain
Bound too tightly by these threads
Doomed to dance this dance forever
Until the master deems us dead

With deep blue tattered curtains
In a withered shoe box stage
Biting tongues behind painted smiles
Concealing porceline rage

So take those shiny scissors
And snip until your loose
Simply preservation when
Those strings are like a noose


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