'Only This And Nothing More.'
Poem by Daegal
There was a shop upon a street,
With dusty shelves all trim and neat,
No custom came, nor neared with haste,
For the sign hung crooked with foul taste.
A puppet store, was what is seemed,
Which acted out the things we’ve dreamed,
Not a trance of clouds in bed,
But one of death and fear and dread.
Its mannequins were too life-like,
Draped from the wall on an iron spike,
Some people said when the night was black,
They saw a man with a leather sack.
He drew it behind him, or so they say,
For he’s never seen in the light of day,
It looked a load of a hefty weight,
As he entered the store by the back gate.
When the moon shines bright, it’s heard,
That shadows pass without a word,
Behind the glass within the store,
“Only this and nothing more.”
What that pack contained, unknown,
But seeds of rumours had been sewn,
Some cried “murder”, even “witch”,
To satisfy their prying itch.
What that bag contained is such:
A secret, please, I’ll say this much,
I was there, although not dead,
Just two blue eyes in an empty head.
He taught me how to dance on string,
And move upon my waxy wing,
Some strange thing inside me now,
As afterwards, I take my bow.
I’ve seen a face I recognise
(We parted without our goodbyes) ,
She sits across the room from me,
Upon the sill, no mind to flee.
He’s father now, a voodoo prince,
And though I have not been seen since,
I like my newly fashioned home,
It’s wax and thread, by him, I roam.
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