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 led straight to heaven –
invisible links
from “Always” to “Never”.

I’m hanging around,
but some lines are missing.
The shades: patting ground,
no blessing or bliss in.

No threads 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 echoes of chops
are more than perfection.

I’m following “right”,
but wireless minding
keeps pushing aside
the 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,
Oh, Great Puppeteer! “

17 January 2007

Copyright ©2007 Iouri Lazirko