This play is just a trial,
Just attempting a new step
That may not be in sync
With your straight-lined ways.

Just a new piece of my distorted,
Wooden ways – a misstep
Corrected, but unacknowledged.
No, I’m not old, dusty –

Just a bit more woodened
By this unappealing take
On the reformations I had
Almost choiclessly catered to!
Darn, yes, I know I’m a puppet,
Treasured, used to playing
Your favourite realities – and
Forever, shall remain so!

But, oh, but… There’s no past
Whose hands veered me astray,
No shadows that camouflaged
The intents of the puppeteer –

No more reasons why I should
Take thy pulls, sprain my heart,
Provoke its woodenness to open
The sleeping volcano of dreariness…

For what matters to me
Is mine to choose…

– September 12th and 18th, 2013
© Sana Rose 2013

 

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