The Instrument's Puppet Poem by Leslie Alexis

The puppeteer pulling his strings.
Sanity’s lunatic, he clings
To the unforgiving song.
In a single breath, he is gone

In the winds over the sea
To the place where the gods be,
Beyond the curves of the moon
To steal and bring their tunes

To us. In a symphony by one
You can see the rising sun,
The weapon of the gods who
Having their tunes stolen are blue,

Bluer than the empty sky
Angered they would not cry,
But fret and are set for war
They do not love man anymore.

To the tunes gypsies dance
Whilst drunkards laugh and prance
As they play tambourines
In the courts of kings and queens

And every jester who thinks the same.
The artist tries to quench the flame
To keep at bay the firmament
That wars because of an instrument,

An instrument that made him
An instrument – a puppet to its every whim;
To sing lovelier than every bird that be;
Made him take from those who keep eternity;

Venturing into their place, he stole;
The artist he fights for his soul…
But suddenly the gods heard his song,
When the sword was raised, and danced along.

Amongst themselves they did compare
And realized songs sweeter they ne’er did hear
As when the instrument played the man
Who surrendered his all to its command.

Copyright © 2010 Leslie Alexis