So many years
living a sterilized life
you never even noticed
the anesthetic smell left behind.
All the soul-flowers died.
You closed the doors
and pulled the shades
shut the sun out of you
cultivated dust colonies
full of shadowed webs
while hibernating inside.
Winter's over and gone
so very long gone
and now there's someone
pounding on your door
not totally prepared
to face the roused anger
of the once slumbering bear
but standing all the same
is that what woke you?
Or was it
the scissored edge of another heart
that cut your puppet strings?