You waltz around subjects carefully so tactly avoided.
One would think it is you who is the puppet, and I the master.
A doll on silver strings...
A man in black, tugging which way and that...
I dance so gracelessly, you guide my stance.
You twist your fingers, and move my limbs..
I live by your whim...
Some of us rely on others to prove our existance in this world...
but I, I exist to prove that you do too.
So Master, dont deny my existance. Keep me here, use me to serve your will.
For without my Master I am but a forgotten dream.
Master Puppeteer, nod your head, twitch your fingers, and let me serve my purpose.
YOU ARE READING
Imitations of Immortality
PoezjaPoety. I guess that makes me a poetess, or a Lady Poet. They both sound funny. I like to be called storyteller, world-builder, bard. I tell stories in epics, and legends in rhyme. They are all futile attempts, as it is merely clumsy poet's song. Tho...
