Across The Faded Tape

We are the puppeteers of our own pasts.

Puppeteer in the dark,

you make me dance

and spin in fragmented

twilight.

 

Shadow strings plucked,

the quartet tragedy

of Sophocles; me

 

Hummed to the tune

through haunted histories,

broken scenes

 

from my different rooms

with rewound view;

 

cassette projects

faded tape

 

child, lost.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Amazing poetry dear Poet.
"Shadow strings plucked,
the quartet tragedy
of Sophocles; me"
The above lines are so good. You left the reader with something to think about. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[TheRaven]

Thank you for the support and the read, Coyote!

[Coyote Poetry]

Was my pleasure and you are welcome.

[Bacchus]

I love this.
Shadow strings plucked
everything- rewound view
... many yeses here!

[TheRaven]

The love is much appreciated!