Suspended
between your still palms
is a silky white thread
made up of situations
shaped by multiple instigated
events.
It was once soft…
but became hardened with time
never self-destructing
rather, isolating itself
as it intertwined
with fragility
.bitterness.
and hope’s steady demise
At the end of it
dull and
partially oxidized
is a pendulum
representing
the entirety of the time
you have left to choose,
between your soul’s dignity
and the subtle lies
that can never be
transformed into reality’s
truth.
You’ve maintained
your composure
sacrificing your joints
to keep that thread unmovable
at its centre point
and though you are confident
that it won’t ever fray
above your head a clock
silently tick-tocks away.
Your fingers though
perfectly shaped
are stiffened
from the years that
they’ve spent
holding an obsolete position,
protecting your pride
from any revelatory events
that will shatter the
wide seams of the covert tent
you made
to contain
your repressed conscience’s
view
that never changed though
you chose to disregard
its deep sorrow
at the mere observation of you…
In its wisdom
it foretells of a sudden jerk
and shuffling sound
that will shake your still
palms
unannounced…
it foretells of fear that will
cause
an eruption
of splintered wooden cries to
fall
from your mouth.
All meaningless
utterances forgotten.
Twine you never noticed
will slowly appear attached to
your arms
cris-crossing over the false
perception of power
that you left unadorned,
then you will look slowly upward
to be finally aware
that you never had control
but was left alone, closeted
by your own private puppeteer
and after being distracted by
shadows that will define
your self-made disaster
you will look down
abruptly remembering
your rusted weight
and the silk thread
you once held captured,
and with arms uplifted
against your own will,
that pendulum
will rise moving
independent of even your own
puppeteers private thrills;
holding the truth
swinging freely
then faster
fiercely revealing…
no one ever did control it
it had always been its own
master.
My Inspiration: Grandfather Clocks and Dolls.
© KohylahPiper 2015
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