This is about flying kites 

Struggling for freedom
string bowed, then taut
nearly straight in this strong wind

Strings in our lives
rules, mores, lack of or too much of
the strings that manipulate us
supreme or devious

I walk my kite on its leash
ceaseless wind
intense, spirit
tugging, ruminating
I merely held it up
the wind did the rest
string rushing through my fingers
the kite rises
I dropped the ball, a bouncing yo-yo
string whining off, end approaching

It soars!
Thin, this string foils elusive freedom
which, once achieved
with the string, which gives it life and conflict
lifts for a moment
flutters listlessly
falls into the field or
a kite eating tree or
a tangled ruination

If strings that attach us to life or
to the supreme notion
then we too
lift, flutter, fall
prey to Satan, inevitable damnation

The string
small as a helix of the past or
thick as a rope secured to an albatross or
an anchor
Ephemeral as thought or
honed altruism
But then
this is about flying kites!

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