Nothing remains to heal the yearning heart,
When cruel words grasp the weary mind
Without intention or purpose.
Or perhaps all intention was present,
Just wrapped deep in deafening darkness;
Too heavy to breach-
Impossible-
When waning were the legs
That were stood upon.
Crumbling at the touch, a wilted flower,
Placed shamefully in a garden of life
Wholly unreachable by any spirit.
Unrecognised by the sun,
The wind
All gazing upon design of scripted movement.
All anomalies when torn from the screenplay,
Receive the mark you let fall on our stems.
But flowers we are not blessed to be.
We are the anomalies
Society demands the removal of.
Now we dance, hiding from the seekers,
A game however ingenious in entertainment,
Forgetting the legion of strings
We bury deep inside
The safety net or walls we build.
After effects
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