lifeless eyes
unable to look
in any direction
while the Puppet Master
pulls her strings
the sea-born spray
has washed it all away—
the fire’s gone
and the only things that stay
are the clouds at dawn
as they pass this way
dancing in a world
indifferent to fate—
all the time suspended
like a marionette
on life’s eternal string
a drop of blood
from my bleeding heart
as the world turns
but there is hope
as fate goes round and round
in this dimension and the next—
it follows a path
where endless junctions
meet and fall part
climbing the pillar
to see all the earth
in all its elements
all the world
traced along
the lines of a map—
diseased, deformed
as the fate of man
all the world—
pockmarked, torn, tattoed
left aside for what it’s worth
to those who hold it
in their hands
stone and fire
roaming the earth
in search of
the One that sees
he looks up
unable to avoid
the falling dagger