Tuesday, 1 March 2011

Puppets

The bellowing twist that is embodied by you, is all empowering as it holds all that should be under your care and love, with tight hurting strings instead. Each string you seem to have intricately woven into a tight knot of control for every twitch and breath that may ever dare to escape them. The emotion and action that you seem to beguile your own with, seem to have swept away under an unseen rug of mystery all that is understanding or kind in a way desperately needed. No memory succeeds in remembering if they ever existed to begin with. The ever fair minded heart that beats with in one of yours, wishfully thinks that just may be perhaps all were missing an integral piece to your logic, but sense precedes over this naive hopeful heart's magnanimous yet deceived reasoning. When sense prevails, a buried memory can't help but remember how you once raped her soul of it's very breath and being, but she quickly tucks it back into the gloom of dark denied captivity where it best remain before a tsunami of inexplicable thoughts plunder an untrod zone that renders every sense that could be hoped for, into a numbed state of irrevocable shock. You, in your mistaken guise of King, remain failing in my eyes today when I see you lash, lash, and constantly clash with all who and that, that make sense; when most things around you seem to be turning to gloom; when fear's the dominant emotion super ceding care, respect, and love whilst in your company. Two wrongs don't make a right; I fail to convince her, for she has become far too embroiled in your controlling grasp and mostly functions to your loosening or tightening of the strings that you and only you command and control. Futile her own reason and wants become when you wish for her to perform to your precise whims and insanities. Voiceless she has become, voicing often as a result to a preoccupied audience mostly, having lost her voice of reason to your vociferous diatribes and verbose unpleasant insulting atrocities. Her heart, it still shines though. I fear for her luminescence, lest it tires and stops glistening. Your tightly strapped tactics that rampage and gorge uninhibitedly leave gaping holes in places where existed the heart and soul of those who wished to keep emotions and feelings alive. It is indeed worrisome, as to how long they will -each through their dreary worn out weathered to the end of their tethered existence- survive. The wail that silently lurks our halls, day in and out for some time now, is becoming louder and harder to keep out. Silence, her temporary refuge, can only stay resolute for so long. Perhaps if you ceased to exist, the others could? But when has the death of a dictator brought with it lasting peace? It would be only so long before unrest wakes up again. For now I think I will shut my door and block all its crevices again in order to return to my hole of subdued essential silence.

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