Your words hang above in infinite space,
awaiting to be taken to heart,
but how can I take them to heart when your own
cannot seem to make itself be free?
Someone still holds the puppet strings,
tugging at your every move,
pulling you in different directions all at once.
Cut the strings,
take that long fall to the ground and get back up.
You do not trust all that you represent,
and you will never see as long as those fingers
keep tightening around your eyes.
Write down your love poems and heartaches,
get them out of your mind
and burn them.
Watch them ash and float up into the night
and join the starry sky.
Set them free
and your soul will soon follow.
If my soul is already free, strings cut, fall endured, content with self, do my words float in infinite space or must they seek a route into your heart? Or will they be accepted with open arms?
ReplyDeleteA request from Anonymous: Take my words to heart, for my soul is as free as yours.