Raggedy Anne and The Balloon Adventure

If I could, not if I should,
I would stick a needle through this skin of mine
I would sit and stitch ‘til the blood crumpled dry,
Pooling over with a dripping sigh
as it seeped from our bodies,
Leaked from our pores
to leap and dance through the fading sky
I would pull needle and thread ‘til we dread no more
‘til the impeccable pattern of repeating string
Made my soul sing to the rhythm of no ending
I would sit and tie and pull and wind
And rejoice at the pattern that came to life
I would rejoice at our triumph and our joining parts
The way for which they start to mend
As the twine bends and weaves through our aging skin
Beating away at the heaves of time,
And the thieves of life for their deceitful crimes

But as our bodies grow heavy and limbs begin to sag,
What a terrible thought if the string began to snag
Began to chip and rip at what time had to bring
We would sit like two dolls
wearing withering laces,
Our still smiling faces as plastic as such
With every bit as much of a dutiful expression
As a young child’s toy for the burdens to lessen

So then, perhaps instead, lets us tear at the seams,
Let us dare to play two parts of a whole
and see what it brings
Let us smile as the wind blows us miles apart,
Each clasping our balloons as we hum our own tune
So sir time will smirk with not impending doom,
But a looming gift
of grey hairs and rocking chairs