• My hands are pulled up
    and posture is standing.
    Don’t know: how to stop,
    the start, and the ending.

    Attached to my strings
    and strings... are to heaven -
    invisible links
    from “Always” to “Never”.

    I’m hanging around,
    but some lines are missing.
    Those things: touching ground,
    no blessing or bliss in.

    No strings to the lips,
    that I used for kissing;
    and nothing that keeps
    to tell You: “Don’t Listen!”.

    Like rain losing drops,
    Love cuts its connection…
    and sound of chops
    is more than perfection.

    I’m following “right”,
    but wireless minding
    keeps pushing aside
    whole process of sliding.

    No matter how hard
    the “pulls” are rejected -
    events stick to chart
    for "lines disconnected".

    No dicing for rolls,
    and breath in to spare…
    Don’t lose our souls,
    O Great Puppeteer!


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