Puppet, puppet on a string
listen to the siren sing,
dancing for the praise she brings.
Still, I can't help wondering
What happens when she cuts the string?
Sweet looks gazed from honeyed eyes,
Sang your praises to the skies.
So you fell for pretty lies.
Death trap cloaked in soft disguise.
Inocence and honor dies.
Springing, dancing everywhere
floating, flying through the air.
Is it right? You do not care.
All that matters, she is there.
Helpless in her clever hands.
Jerking to her soft commands.
Limbs are caught in silken strands
as true a prison as iron bands.
She pulls a little closer then
she pushes you away.
She shows you how to dance
and tells you how to play.
But soon another comes along
she says it's just today.
She lays your strings in tangles
then quickly slips away.
So there you lie so all alone
hoping for her fast return.
In your mind you see old dances,
in memories you twist and turn.
It's growing dark, the stage is empty
lonely eyes begin to burn.
Tears fall on wooden puppet cheeks,
wooden heart abandoned yearns.
Yearns for dances from the past.
When arms and legs were twirling fast.
Dancing, lightly, feeling free.
Lights and colors swirling past.
Crowds were throwing gifts that glittered.
Puppet thought the dance would last.
Puppet wood gets cracked and worn.
Puppet strings get twisted torn.
Puppet heart cries out forlorn.
Didn't know that puppeteers
use many puupets through the years.
Read more articles by Bobbi Buchanan or search for articles on the same topic or others.
Bobbi,
I would have placed this under Inspirational Poetry. Very moving and exceptional work. I absolutely loved it, start to finish!
May God continue to insprire you to create such works!
Sincerely,
Dan Blankenship
