Friday, December 05, 2008

Scherazade's Story: The End

Wooden puppet.
Woollen heart.

Unmoving,
like a puppeteer's unloving heart.


She never thought
she could see him again.

A birthday present that
arrived two days late.

Doesn't matter that
it lacks the two verbal
"Happy Birthday."

Her best gift was
to see his face again.

The puppeteer
has finally made his break,
and asked the puppet
to witness the splendor
of his success.

Happiness set her
heart aflutter.

Twenty days
before it marks a year
since the day she
gave him her heart.

Marks the day
the world truely sees
the hidden hero that
only she had seen.

With this zealous bubble
bursting inside of her,
the puppet danced harder
than she ever would.

Because there he was,
before her sight again.

She tried to express
her longing through
a fleeting glance.

Lament her anguish
through a tender whisper.

But her puppeteer
sees nothing but
a fiery glare from
beneath her long locks.

The angst that built
with her growing desperation.

She needed him,
needed him close.

They were barely
an arm length apart.

But the puppeteer,
like her,
no longer have a heart.

She had shorn off
her hair the way he likes it.

Yet the imploring eyes
of the puppeteer seek
anxiously for someone
that was not her.

Raised upon the stage,
he stood tall and mighty
above the crowd.

But the puppet
could no longer see him
as she turned her back
towards him.

She had came to
believe that
he would never love her.

The puppet started to
push through the crowd.

The spell that
granted her mobility
without her strings
begun to slip away.

Her skin felt cold
against the sweaty arms
of the audience
as her limbs harden into lumber.

Her sprint started
to weigh down to
a stagger.

Her cries were
muffled into a whimper.

Her heart shuddered
as the last flame
of passion flickered
in a dying stance.

The puppeteer
strike a chord
on the piano.

But her deaf ears
could no longer hear
his tune.

She clattered lifelessly
onto a passing cart
and was wheeled further
away from him.

Her last tears
glistened and hardened
her eyes into glass.

Twenty days
before it marks a year
since the day she
gave him her heart.

Marks the day
the world sees
the last of her love
that only the
puppeteer had not seen.

Lumber limbs.
Glazing glass.

Unseeing,
like a puppet's loving heart.

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