Make An Effort
Matter is always inert;
dense shadowy stuff
that resists the shining.
Leave the puppet
to its own devices
and how will it ever
get out of its box?
Who then is there
to make an effort?
And with what force
from where obtained?
The child, the kitten, the puppy
have no idea
that there are efforts
to be made.
Simmering with energy,
breathing through the joints and strings,
they almost make the puppet fly
with pure enthusiasm.
By what deity
are they then possessed?
Growing older,
fires colder,
energy wanes,
puppet pains,
lies down
in its box.
Shadowy
and inert.
poem by Brian Taylor
Added by Poetry Lover
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