Strings
The woodcutter and puppeteer
once lived
in coexistence
although unknown
craft left hidden
strings quietly rewoven
In past life
the woodcutter
was greedy
and when threatened
by possibility
cut the strings
holding together
glue and wax
The puppeteer planned
and they quarreled
until the woodcutter
lost their glue
and the strings
once cut
held together
something new
The woodcutter
lost of shop
gave his best
creations away
some ending in bin
others being displayed
One special butterfly
beautiful in color
and shape
was held in a box
tucked away
from wandering hands
alone in peaceful damnation
A leaf
fluttered through a crack
into the windless box
settling next to
the caged
and the butterfly’s box
no longer seemed so
sad
The butterfly’s box
once so dark
now held life
and the leaf sat
it’s delicate veins
and soft green edges
crinkling with age
For seven days
the puppeteer took no notice
of the invaded space
until thought spoke
and the leaf
was demanded gone
The box opened
and nothing could
be done
as the strings pulled
and the leaf
was set to the wind
floating from view
The strings
had never seemed
so bad
until the box
again seemed
more a cage
than before the leaf
had lain in light
The butterfly
now drooped
with paint chipped
and color faded
again would new life come
and again
would the strings pull
until cracked butterfly
didn’t seem so beautiful
and would be
released
from its box
April 20, 2021
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