PuppetGirl's profile

Dim aspens whisper in the fitful night As wind twists through their branches, like the hands Of some old, meddling god, who keeps the whole Of his creation bound by wicked stars. The fierce wind flings dark clouds across the sky And brings a chill that settles in my bones. I see the branches nearly bare, the bones Of earth grown cold and dead in winter's night And ghostly shells of leaves against the sky Withered and dry like old skeletal hands Yet striving, each alone, to block the whole, To...

A broken puppet on the world's cold stage Is made to dance by players who don't see Within her wooden heart the growing rage, The bitter pain and splintered agony. With shattered will and an unfeeling heart-- Without a hope to ever be repaired-- She must play, silently, her written part, A figurante in chains, lost in despair. This dancing marionette without a name Conceals behind her mask an inner hell. Her pain is coals, a heat that can't be tamed, Hidden from sight behind the wooden shell....

We walk through beauty's dark and silent thought, With angels sweetly smiling, though disgraced, At memories of a beloved's face And all the dreams and hopes that life forgot. Our words are lost in syncopated rhyme, Heat drawn away by unrepenting air; We fall away from love and learn to care, To hold the empty borders of our time. The glass will turn, as day by day years die. What will the covering of the year-sands show? Bright angels cannot see, but devils know (They dwell amid decaying hou...

We walk through beauty's dark and silent thought, With angels sweetly smiling in disgrace At memories of a beloved's face And all the dreams and hopes that life forgot. Our words are lost in syncopated rhyme, Heat drawn away by unrepenting air; We fall away from love and learn to care, To hold the empty borders of our time. The glass will turn, as day by day years die. What will the covering of the year-sands show? Bright angels cannot see, but devils know (They dwell amid decaying hours). Pa...

The trees I pass are dark and still this Tuesday night, The sun's sweet smile has fallen into darkest blue As flowers close their faces to the failing light. Will their fragrance breathe again with dawn's soft hue? Or down some lonely, hidden pathway long untrod Perhaps they might remain, with gentle sweetness furled, As the hostile machinations of a savage God Unwind the dank and moulding fabric of the world.