with eyes closed
I am placed
onto a stage in motion
each night
and I dance
in and out
of danger
or ecstasy,
a puppet,
dangling in a familiar world,
not there
by my consent.
Of what origin
is this script
I recite
while I thrash about?
Who tugs the strings
in this land
of lostness
and consequence?
It is, I think,
the soul, so amused,
as it prepares me
for the trials of tomorrow.
- by Lyman Ditson