A Puppet

 

I'm a puppet; broken

left with tangled strings

my name left unspoken

and to my body dirt clings

 

My puppeteer has left me

broken and abused

he once would hold me gently

but now I'm left unused

 

My dress is torn to shreds

My hair is left in knots

My gloves are nothing but threads

I feel like a corpse that rots

 

But when to fate I surrender

then he will return

He'll dress me with a smile, warm and tender,

and then my old rags he'll burn

 

He'll untangle my strings

and brush the knots out of my hair

He'll give me a set of angel's wings

and He'll hold me with care

 

but soon he'll leave once more

and then I'll be alone

staring at the door

hoping that he'll come home

 

I'm just a puppet you see

Loyal to my puppeteer

whether he's far away from me

or if he's standing here

Reviews

[charleybear]

This is brilliant, lovely imagery, it flows really well. My interpretation of your poem is one where my love would be the puppeteer, i could only exist with her and when she went, i would be torn and broken. Unable to be. I don't know if this is what you were thinking. Nice job well done

[Xaine E. Cross]

I like it. Good job Alex

[DF]

I love the puppet imagery in this poem that creatively explores faith and determinism