MMLP
10-01-2014, 07:29 AM
No Strings Attached
http://www.blckdmnds.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/igor-morski-11.jpg
It was such a shame to see him go in that way,
his subtle frame must have been broken with age.
He would float on the stage while singing most nights
to the folk that awaited, yet he didn’t know why.
He continued despite having ailments aplenty,
bringing delight though it pained him immensely.
Deflated and empty but his shoulders were tough
the weight was too heavy, but he rolled with the punch.
Heart racing with envy, til he opened it up
wavy and friendly, knowing the show was a must.
But his role was a front, each performance a ruse,
he didn’t like goading the public – it was all that he knew!
Yet applause is of futile consolation to a man
who feels awkwardly rooted to the stage on which he stands.
He played into their hands, each fumble or kick,
raising all the stands with sudden upswings
made the people laugh, from up and coming
felt as rough as those limbs, though wouldn't speak at all
had supple hard lips, but couldn’t even talk
he tugged at our strings, but it was his being pulled.
He struggled with the thought his whole act was a farce,
and presumption his support only came attached to his arms.
That’s when he started to realise whoever controlled his commands
had mastered the art of propping him up, while holding him back.
He noticed the cracked paint set to his skin
which unknowingly anchored a perpetual grin.
The legs were all chipped and started to creak,
the oppressor forced it, from arms to the feet
with less endurance, he didn't have the heart to achieve
as wet performances, washed up his scenes.
The novelty ceased in his cold wooden gaze
he wanted some freedom as all he’d known was the stage.
So he broke the constraints, and at last he was free,
but with no one holding the reigns - He collapsed in a heap.
He was scattered in pieces, then forced from the room
a stand-in was needed, as applause become boo's.
The act was completed from one he already knew
dumped and shattered as weeping was all he could do
with the audience jubilant, he smiled remembering the artist
and those notorious moves as he was swept into the darkness…
BaronMynd
MMLP
http://www.blckdmnds.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/igor-morski-11.jpg
It was such a shame to see him go in that way,
his subtle frame must have been broken with age.
He would float on the stage while singing most nights
to the folk that awaited, yet he didn’t know why.
He continued despite having ailments aplenty,
bringing delight though it pained him immensely.
Deflated and empty but his shoulders were tough
the weight was too heavy, but he rolled with the punch.
Heart racing with envy, til he opened it up
wavy and friendly, knowing the show was a must.
But his role was a front, each performance a ruse,
he didn’t like goading the public – it was all that he knew!
Yet applause is of futile consolation to a man
who feels awkwardly rooted to the stage on which he stands.
He played into their hands, each fumble or kick,
raising all the stands with sudden upswings
made the people laugh, from up and coming
felt as rough as those limbs, though wouldn't speak at all
had supple hard lips, but couldn’t even talk
he tugged at our strings, but it was his being pulled.
He struggled with the thought his whole act was a farce,
and presumption his support only came attached to his arms.
That’s when he started to realise whoever controlled his commands
had mastered the art of propping him up, while holding him back.
He noticed the cracked paint set to his skin
which unknowingly anchored a perpetual grin.
The legs were all chipped and started to creak,
the oppressor forced it, from arms to the feet
with less endurance, he didn't have the heart to achieve
as wet performances, washed up his scenes.
The novelty ceased in his cold wooden gaze
he wanted some freedom as all he’d known was the stage.
So he broke the constraints, and at last he was free,
but with no one holding the reigns - He collapsed in a heap.
He was scattered in pieces, then forced from the room
a stand-in was needed, as applause become boo's.
The act was completed from one he already knew
dumped and shattered as weeping was all he could do
with the audience jubilant, he smiled remembering the artist
and those notorious moves as he was swept into the darkness…
BaronMynd
MMLP