Absolutely Miles Away …too many clouds, too little time…

fire and strings

Unrestrained cracking feeding on fractured plywood, all-consuming, all-needing. Cowardice. Intrigue. Fear. Doubt. Flamed yellow tongues licking a stature daubed in mud. And we look on from the crowds cheering and jeering and flailing.

Sickened with single mindedness slicing through a second. Peripheral vision becomes centred on becoming a gargantuan effort to rip it, tear it, break it. It is all we know. Burn to destroy. No going back. Cease.

Yet childish annoyance is left whimpering wildly on the sidelines. How influence works; how we are puppets until the strings are cut. Look how they dance for us.

Scissors, please.

We can cut through strings, yes. We cannot cut through fire, sadly. Puppets may dance also, but they can be put away in a dark box and hidden under the bed (or under six feet of earth at the bottom of the garden).

In the words of Lesley Judd, “Please ask an adult for help before using scissors - particularly in anger.”

water can hopefully quell fires. enough of it may.

i think the puppets may want to cut their own strings.

Then they will cut them when the time is right.

I’ve been noticing that more and more. Everything happens when it will happen, strangely enough. Even though I’m the person that is first to cut the strings, tear it off, and be done with it–I have learned that time will go the way it is going now…