Puppets

Puppets

 

You see them across the room, strokes of fate awhirl,

Peripheral sight catches peripheral sight and becomes static. 

If the universe, as they love to say, is unerringly erratic

Why then do some strings seem to entwine so?

 

To what puppet master do I owe moments like this?

Such simplistic serenity, beatific clarity cannot be quantified.

But are we simply silk in this game to be plucked and modified

Until we don’t even recognize the face staring back in these mirrors.

 

It is so often uneasy, the path is never free of obstacles.

Reflections of peace come in packages of chaos, pain, and despair.

For millennia we have looked in every cardinal, but we know not where

The answers come, whether from within or without, we stay suspended.