Control
He was the
puppeteer, she the marionette. He was
handsome,
she hung on his words, ensnared by their candour.
He brought flowers, seemed earnest in his ardour,
she hung on his words, ensnared by their candour.
He brought flowers, seemed earnest in his ardour,
He was manipulative, she was
submissive.
She
should have listened to mother, who said
never trust a man who will not meet your eye.
She
laughed it off, far too soft,
down to her very last curl.
The puppeteer was a plotter in control,
soon she became his puppet,
tried and tested to a high specification.
soon she became his puppet,
tried and tested to a high specification.
Rows ensued if she broke down, became loose,
disengaged or tried to break away.
disengaged or tried to break away.
One
day huge cracks appeared; a
split occurred,
She finally snapped and when they
became uncoupled,
he was shriven, spiteful, selfish.
he was shriven, spiteful, selfish.
Instead of crumbling, she was dignified,
she forgave
and wished him well,
before
she left him, more in sorrow than anger.
Cait
O’Connor
5 comments:
We've all known someone like that haven't we. Strong, evocative poem.
Ooooo-rather good! In fact, damn excellent.
Excellent!! I can picture these two. She was a 'bigger person' than I would have been when she wished him well!! I'd forgive, but draw the line at that.
(Thanks for the visit today...and right now I mainly write poetry, though I have written fiction in the past!)
A good idea, nicely contrived, beautifully drawn and very moving. Well done.
Yes, true to life in many ways.
Well expressed, without sentimentality or anger.
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