tethered
like wisped strings at the tops of their heads
the puppeteers
yank them to their feet
a rude awakening
they are not chosen
just lucky
they dance for her
it is a stumbling, clumsy dance
but she rocks back on her throne,
pleased
as she was ignored before
YOU ARE READING
P R E S E R V A T I O N
Poetry{#520 in Poetry} The world has turned to ash. Hot winds and violent storms are in its place. Whatever remains of humanity has descended into chaos. The earth is taking back what is hers in a fit of catastrophic rage. This story follows a few people...
