Puppet Master

Moving unwillingly

Bent over in odd shapes

Prancing around like fools

Controlled by him and him alone

No divine force
No unholy acts

Strings shine in the bright stage lights

Up, down, up, down

His arms move

In odd fashions, like conducting an orchestra

They get moved in his will
They stop at his will

No one has the right to refuse

No one has the right to comply

They wish his death,
They wish it hard

But all of them know inside,
That they cannot live without him

Motion comes from motion,
Forces act and react with other forces

But for them, their lives are predestined by that man
Their acts are irreversible, their minds incapable of any resistance
Soulless, yet living things

Under a soulful, yet dead master

Irony clashes with compassion
Compassion fails to exist in their world anyway

But still

They wish to live
They wish to be like him
They wish to be different from him

But at the end of the day
The strings fall
And the puppets are left dangling
Cold and wooden
Silent, yet they scream in their minds

That little old man slowly kisses each of the wooden things
And keeps them slowly in small, cozy boxes
He then walks away from the theater
Smiling, yet troubled with deep thought

Thus lives the life of a Puppet Master