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van gogh says

Strings


I still hear his footsteps
They scuff slowly behind me in uncomfortable shoes

His criticisms were so matter of fact
as if they were never mentioned
but sharp praise always tasted of pride

Money couldn't understand him
Just his presence made life an overwilling marionette
For me, my father never pulled strings

Strings were last resorts
His talk danced a circle
and a smile would cameo at the right place

All would be done

He knew I'd have to learn
to pull strings for myself
I thank him for that

Now I'm cursed to wonder:
is he pulling a few for me now?
The talk has stopped
but I hear the shoes




Graphically intense version button © 1997 J.Kevin Wolfe, all rights reserved
 appears here by permission


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