Puppet Show

Photo by Dikaseva

Both hands are tied;

The strings, an intricate pattern

Just barely co-existing,

A mere second away from getting tangled

And messing up the show.


She manages to maneuver

All important pieces of her soul

Separating them, letting them meet.

Dancing a delicate dance

That only she knows the steps to.


But tugs at both her hands continue

The tangles keep getting tighter.

Her platform is now a stage

And her strings are controlling her;

The puppeteer now a puppet.

Bus Ride

The rhythmic movement calms her

If only for the time being.

If only in a bus ride,

At least there is some movement in her life.


She can see why people are attracted

To dangerous, adventure sports.

There is such beauty

In choosing acceleration.


Such power one must feel

Falling headfirst, bungee-jumping.

Not being dragged down, but shooting like an arrow

And assurance of bouncing back up.


Such peace one must feel

While running a marathon

Follies and stabs of regret

Not catching up for some time.


The fears start bubbling up

As she sees  her bus-stop in the distance.

For when the bus halts,

So does the variation in her life.