Threads of Fate

I can feel the threads of fate, pulling on my hands.

They wrap around my fingers in a suffocating band.

They cut into my skin, and my blood dyes them deep red.

Then up and up they pull, slicing through my hands.

 

I see an angel on my left, as she looks me in the eye.

She smiles at me slowly; and pulls towards her, the threads.

Then she brings them to her lips,

darts out her tongue and licks–then she looks at me

and laughs;

 

I see a devil on my left, see pain in his black eyes.

He sees right through my own, and there’s blood upon his cheeks

because he’s cried.

He places one hand on my heart, the other on my face,

and he gobbles up my tears as they trickle down like rain.

 

I feel the threads of fate, pulling on my hands.

They wrap around my fingers in a suffocating band.

Then they pull

–up, up, up!–

and my hands rise above my head;

and the  master of these threads, makes me do a puppet dance.

photo found at ruggedcrossfineartwoodworking.com

(c)  Marie Meyers, 2013

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