Suspended from the ceiling
Whispering poems
And in the chorus of their hymns
I stand distant. Hallucinating?
Absorbing.. not quite interpreting -choking
Irrational. Indiscreet
I stand hollow in defeat. Incomplete
Now panicking
They want to be heard they want to be known
Bodies without souls; plastic without bones
Am I one of them?
Transfixed I stand amidst this mayhem
They’re circling me, closing in on me. I cant move my feet
Clinging to me. Chanting poems in my ears in voices sweet
Hurting. Bleeding
Desperate for love and liberty
For mirth. For life that frees them from captivity
Their eyes shine and I wonder if they are soulless
With guilt, sorrows and much distress
Mannequins lay weeping. In my arms, sobbing
I whisper them hope but I know they’re dying.

-The Gypsy


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