{"id":685,"date":"2025-06-10T15:46:00","date_gmt":"2025-06-10T15:46:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/2025\/06\/10\/fragments-of-frost-and-fire-episode-4-strings-36\/"},"modified":"2025-06-10T15:46:00","modified_gmt":"2025-06-10T15:46:00","slug":"fragments-of-frost-and-fire-episode-4-strings-36","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/2025\/06\/10\/fragments-of-frost-and-fire-episode-4-strings-36\/","title":{"rendered":"Fragments Of Frost And Fire – Episode 4 – STRINGS"},"content":{"rendered":"

 Strings<\/h2>\n

We enter this world as fallen puppets,
\nlimbs sprawled across the stage of existence\u2014

\nno strings to lift us skyward,

\nno master’s hand to guide our dance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
\"A<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

Born frail and feeble,
\nwe draw strength from those around us,

\ngrasping at invisible threads

\nthat promise to pull us upright,

\nto steady us as we move through the world.<\/p>\n

The first string to attach, for the fortunate,

\nanchors in the heart of a loving mother\u2014

\nsilver-spun and strong as steel.

\nIt lifts our chin, straightens our spine,

\nteaches us what it means to stand.<\/p>\n

Then comes family,

\nbound by blood or bond\u2014

\nthe strings longer, more flexible,

\nbut still supportive.<\/p>\n

Friendship\u2019s golden wire finds hold next:

\nlaughter\u2019s crimson cord,

\nthe emerald thread of first love

\nthat makes us leap and spin.<\/p>\n

We gather strings like promises,

\neach one a reason to rise\u2014

\nmentors who guide our gestures,

\npassions that animate our purpose.<\/p>\n

For a while, we dance beautifully,

\nsuspended in a web of care.

\nEvery movement graceful,

\nevery step supported.<\/p>\n

But time is the cruelest puppet master.

\nStrings once strung tight fall slack,

\nsome intentionally severed.

\nWe stumble\u2014

\nwaiting for loose threads to pull taut,

\nor for new ones to lift us once more.<\/p>\n

One by one, the strings grow thin:

\na father\u2019s voice fades to silence,

\nchildhood friends drift out of reach.<\/p>\n

Some cords snap without warning\u2014

\nthe sudden loss that drops us to our knees,

\nforcing us to relearn how to move

\nwith fewer strings.<\/p>\n

Others, we cut ourselves,

\ntired of being pulled

\nin directions that no longer serve

\nthe dance we want to perform.<\/p>\n

Sometimes we try to repair a connection\u2014

\na knot in the string,

\na new anchor point\u2014

\nbut these seldom hold fast.<\/p>\n

And sometimes,

\ndesperate for support,

\nwe grasp at strangers\u2019 strings:

\nborrowed threads that jerk us sideways,

\nmake us stumble,

\nmake us fall.<\/p>\n

The art is learning which strings to keep,

\nwhich ones to mend when they fray,

\nhow to stand with grace

\neven when half our supports are gone.<\/p>\n

We become our own puppet masters,

\nholding some strings in our own hands,

\ndancing not because we must,

\nbut because we choose to move.<\/p>\n

Some exist without strings\u2014

\nnothing attached to them.

\nYou see them: feeble and broken,

\nunable to stand.

\nOr tall and rigid,

\ntheir inflexibility the price of standing,

\nleaving them unable to dance.<\/p>\n

In the end, the wisest puppets know:
<\/span>
\nfreedom isn\u2019t having no strings\u2014
<\/span>
\nit\u2019s choosing which connections
<\/span>
\ndeserve to lift us toward the light<\/span>.<\/span><\/p>\n

More Of My Poetry<\/span><\/h3>\n
Whispers Between Worlds<\/a>
<\/span><\/div>\n
The Slow Bloom Of Ice<\/a><\/div>\n
Wounds That Won’t Heal<\/a><\/div>\n<\/p>\n
\n

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 Strings We enter this world as fallen puppets, limbs sprawled across the stage of existence\u2014 no strings to lift us skyward, no master’s hand to guide our dance. Born frail and feeble, we draw strength from those around us, grasping at invisible threads that promise to pull us upright, to steady us as we move…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false,"_kad_post_classname":"","slim_seo":{"title":"Fragments Of Frost And Fire - Episode 4 - STRINGS - Lawrence Nault","description":" Strings We enter this world as fallen puppets, limbs sprawled across the stage of existence\u2014 no strings to lift us skyward, no master's hand to guide our"},"footnotes":""},"categories":[122,114,115,120,119,116,118,46,117,121],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-685","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-attachments","category-family","category-friends","category-hermit-life","category-identity","category-introspection","category-original-writing","category-poetry","category-reflection","category-writer-life"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/685","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=685"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/685\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=685"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=685"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lawrencenault.me\/journal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=685"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}