The Show Must(n’t) Go On


Neon lights shine bright, inviting
you to pay and take your seat.
The sign’s aglow, hand-in-hand,
in tow, fill the row you’re good to go.

The night, tonight, begins – exciting!
The curtains neatly part.
It’s fast, then slow, our puppet’s show.
His souls are broken and sore.

The strings are tight, in spite of fighting,
see the whites around the eyes.
Tick tack toe, echoes in flow,
keen eyes see through the mist.

High and mighty, shy and frightly,
shakey fingers point, they glare.
“Oh no”. “What more?”, their souls imploding,
the wooden boy has skin and bones!

Flying, crying, swiping strings, the
body of brain and soul is lowered.
Bruised bones, no home, a slave no more,
the string manipulator was chased and caught.

Filed in line, neon brightness shines,
The freed breathe new air assured.
No more shows, not tic-tack-toes,
Real girls and boys once more, make noise.
Our people are not your toys.


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