Strings (Poetry)

I’ve had a strange unsettled life
made up of random things
I take some blame but so should they —
whoever pulls my strings

I feel the tug of influence
might have decreased with age
but even now I’m far from sure
I’ve reached that cut-loose stage

I’m undecided half the time
which road I ought to take
it somehow seems each fateful choice
just isn’t mine to make

I wait for omens — subtle signs
washed in on morning’s tide
the clichéd horoscope’s no good —
a worse-than-useless guide

I can’t explain it to myself
how reason shifts and swings
except to say some ghost controls
these frayed old knotted strings