No Strings Attached
Hanging limply,
Like an executed prisoner,
I wait for the first touch.
All around I see others like me,
Wooden marionettes, each with-
Blank faces, none unique.
Slowly I feel a tug,
I rise with compliance.
Yann Tierson's "La Valse d'Amelie"
Floats like a phantasm, cutting the silence.
The others rise in unison,
A rhythmic dance, we rise
And fall together, our legs
And arms flailing to
Maestro’s wishes.
No freedom, no life.
Day by day, the onlookers,
Staring wistfully, invasive.
The dance continues,
Applause, rolling, droll-
Droning. There is no happiness,
No comedy, not even tragedy.
Just the performance, We spin-
Our unison dance, the encore.
-Crack!-
One of my dopplegangers,
His arm snapped. Splinter
Shower, raining upon the stage.
His fate, the hearth,
When is my turn to be free of this.
I envy his release.
Then once again,
I hang in the still night,
Swinging gently,
Emotionless, no expression,
Until the next show.
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