Raggedy Andy
Inside the winter wonderland
In the stark of the silence, the smoothing of the soothing reaches me with silken thread. Slowly piercing through the driftwood beached along the sands of the thoughts laid dead.
Like snow globe eyes present scenery of times in capture, time in loop to paint the sky.
Time behind those globes continuing to deny, sands littered with the slow decay of time gone by.
I inhale a fresh thread soft and strong, a single breath to help us remain upright and to carry on.
Smooth and limber it makes it way, anchoring tomorrow to one of my yesterdays.
The seamstress struggles against the hands of time, fearing I may forfeit what remains of mine.
The faux snow dancing for all who watch, unaware of the stage, unaware of the cost.
Another second the hands do play, progressing slowly in every way, minute then hour to make the day.
Still I remain in the moment of silence, silken thread snakes memories stored within my head.
The view looking in between the suspended faux snow, the view looking out into the unknown.
Much more alike then one might suspect, the clock strikes the hour bringing me nearer to then. In the stark of the silence, now is then, the smooth of the sooth plays back my when.
Thread binding me tighter to prevent my sway, seamstress double knotting to encourage my stay. The character inside the worldly globe, listening to the heartbeat which skips and lobes.
Dreams of life outside the glass, the taste of real snow wind carries and throws.
Nightmare behind the glass, faux snow, faux past, the threads weave a smile.
Those in line must have a story, an answer at last.
To satisfy ritual and damper the fear at rest.
Tell us a story and all is well.
Promise us there is no place of hell.
I am just a doll of thread and heart.
Once upon a time, my story starts.
