Curtains Close

Something I found while I was cleaning my room. I want to see what everyone thinks of it. It's nothing like the rest of my poetry, and I'm not even sure it's a poem. Just...read it.

I am the Puppeteer.

My puppets dance across my stage,

Victim to my whim,

but themselves nonetheless.

I am the director.

I make a man a god for a moment,

but when he's done,

he is himself once more.

I am the Playwright

I create worlds of mystery and secrets,

but when I finish,

they are no longer only mine.

I am the Magician.

On stage, I bend the world to my fancy,

but when the crowd has left,

all I bent were smoke and mirrors.

I am the girl.

I seem to be strong, confident -- even human,

but when the curtains close,

I am nothing.  Nothing is left, once again.

And the curtains close on an empty mask,

which finally clatters to the floor.

It's bearer has found truth at last.

And the girl who never was has gone.

Author's Note

Sorry it's got a messed up meter. Just tell me what you think. I'm trying to see how it goes over.
Tell me.

Reviews

[buttontop27]

It is good it shows the true potencal of what kind of thing you can get out of cleaning

[Cricket Kidd]

funny how some of our best poetry is found when cleaning our room. I understand everything except for the last two stanzas, I can't really see how they fit... maybe someone else can help me out.
(I like the part about the puppeteer, it is just so you...)