The Strings

Have you heard the words of youth,
or merely waited them out
to tell the story
you've been trained to tell?
The story that made you think
you could someday be safe,
but never stopped nibbling
at the heart and at the mind?
Have you ever moved yourself
to the side of you,
and looking about, seen your squinting face?
Have you seen the lines?
If so, why do you
try so hard to deny them?
All of the yous flit about,
as souls tethered to
the marionette's crossbar,
vying to tip the balance
in their direction.
And when one string pulls
too heavily upon the cruciform,
the others counter,
regaining even display.
But what if you set the strings alight
and let the fires run
til they burn the wielding hand,
letting the story
lift into the wind
where there is nothing solid
to tie it down again?