The Puppet Master
A puppet master is a special one; not easy to find.
They must be masters of emotions, to twist and turn the mind.
Beware their easy smiles, and their caring look.
Your inner most thoughts and weaknesses, read as if a book.
To lead one on and save them; that is a master's will.
But amusement is my only drive, the demanding void I must fill.
With graceful bounds and whirling strings I made my puppets dance.
They bumped along blissfully, enthralled within my trance.
I led them cruelly one by one on to meet their fate;
A life of love and promises, but also strife and hate.
My puppets followed merrily, genuinely unaware.
It's only once they understood that the strings began to tear.
Their happy faces soured, their noses grew and grew,
Servants turned upon their master, and towards their freedom flew.
I watched numbly as I let them go; I could not make them stay,
And felt a certain itching, as if something, somewhere had begun to fray.
I contorted and bent desperately to drive this feeling out.
But as my limbs grew paralyzed, my mind clouded with doubt.
There is no freedom in this place, no guardian of golden wings.
I had played with others far too long,
and became a prisoner of my own strings.
