Acesential

there’s magic in the severing an honest truth that endness brings how can something never there be gone? And though they were just bits of string I miss them more then anything the puppets that were leading us along what is life, if not the way that something moves and speaks and plays, in a form that otherwise lies still? the horses whom I knew as friends invisible, with severed ends it feels like death but dying’s not the word They all grew up so suddenly, and just as soon, you’re asked to leave did we doze off? did we miss out on what the length of life’s about? It’s more then just a story told it was a pla