Black Strings

If only he could fly..

But the wind was much too strong.

Good old mother nature with her

howling and whipping and snapping at his face.

Piercing straight through his paper maćhe body.

Stinging his insides, his soul, his little paper heart.

Swinging and swaying in the midst of her verbal assault.

Tied to a branch, connected to the tree, rooted in her body.

Hand painted face smiling infinitely, staring infinitely.. while the crows come to pluck out his plastic eyes.

Fly off with his straw hair.

The creaks and moans of the twisting rope his voiceless cries.

Speaking In a long lost language,

carried off by the wind.

If only he could fly...