The Instrument's Puppet

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