Thursday, November 21, 2013

The Puppet

The Puppet

With placid, painted smile and dull,
opaque eyes, the puppet watches
the lost child play.
Cavorting about the fire
The familiar roller-coaster playing
In his scattered mind.
He jumps, grasps at thin, silvery
Wisps of smoke floating past
Taunting his hand.
Ferocious, the little boy tries
To trap the whispers, all the while
Crushing them in a
White-knuckled grip.

The fire dims and the ghosts drift on,
A broken boy falls to the ground,
Utter bewilderment flickering
Across his face.
A moment of surrender and abandon
Turns vulnerability into impenetrable
Walls, begging to be conquered.
Cautiously, the puppet stares on,
Willing the boy's mouth to open
And speak.
Suddenly, the boy reaches up
Snatching the figurine as a
Worthless trinket.
He opens its mouth and expects
What he wants to hear
But the pawn fails,
Having been pulled and twisted
Into silence.

Indignant and ignorant to his own
Muted mouth, he tosses the doll aside.
Standing, the boy who is forgetting
Wanders off in pursuit of insanity.
The lost child's plaything remains,
A silent, desperate cry escaping
It's placid, painted smile
A reflection of the decimated boy lingering
In it's dull, opaque eyes.