I

These fingers, they once unfurled like the wings of a free bird

Like a victorious wave that dived and soared to its nemesis, my tips

The rhythm of a harmonium would wait in line to be heard

As these fingers ignored the skeleton’s stricture, and its hiss.

These eyes, they once rolled to the heavens like a biased dice

Creating ripples in the hearts of those who were too silly to care

They took to stage as an enchantress determined to entice

And left before the applause to stare elsewhere.

These hands, they could once revere, in unison the lifeless deity,

Demanding good riddance for its act as the ingenious impostor.

Sometimes it was an anklet adorning a stubborn red artery,

Sometimes a mirror that caressed and fed the vanity of a prankster.

In retrospect the whole that is -  I -  seems to be possessed not pristine,

Forced to give up its flirtations for the greater good of the machine.