Locked in two threads
Hanging hand over hand from each
Holding them end to end
Willing to mend
Hope against hope
Like a raging tide
Great, inexorable
The Kindly Ones
Their single eye
Spied you a baby
And marked you
With the brand of Cain
Forever on the outside
Forever a stranger
A foreigner with no home
You protested
Screeching your pseudo language to the heavens
You protested
“I can fix this, tis but a cut,
Their shears are as thin as air
If I hold it tight they’ll hardly notice.”
But your hands are slipping
A slow chuckle like the growl of a dog
In the back of an old crone’s throat
They had foreseen this to
In fighting destiny you are destiny
They laugh
While you bob up and down on the tension of two strings
Like a tired marionette cast back and forth
You rise heroic
Only to fall again
And again
“Give it a yank love,
Make him dance”
Till he lets go


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