Release, Realisation And Renaissance - Poem by Andy Brookes
Though the puppet master had died,
That dark forbidding hand hovered,
Casting its long shadow.
The strings intrinsic still held tight sway.
Without direction the puppet floundered
The scarred mind unable to comprehend.
Yet slowly the soul realised its freedom
But whether able to act was to be seen.
Through the haze of relief the mind was still frozen,
Waiting for the sun of freedom to give immunity.
Unknown to others, underneath there were subtle changes,
A breaking of dams and unfettering of thoughts.
Faces that were familiar lost their meaning
As dead as wax figures their rosy mouths moving
Spitting out the incomprehensible.
Their condolences were ill founded, unwanted even.
But in the first months of thaw
The emotions ran raw, if subterranean.
The slow torpor of suppressed feeling
Came in no rushing bubble of the dramatic,
Rather a slow seeping of tangible reality.
The voices urging the giving up the small freedoms,
That were now new found possessions, held no sway.
No one would ever again order or demand anything.
A dawning hope flashed and now unfettered
She had become mistress of own her destiny,
Metamorphosis complete enabling her to
To plan a future without reference to others.
The house was sold and no backward glance was given
Striding out with firm step, a puppet no longer,
For now reborn her new life beckoned.
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