The puppeteer

He fixes the strings.

Fastening and unfastening,

Coiling and uncoiling,

Over and over again.

He positions the strings,

In the way that he liked.

Constantly pulling.

Making sure everything's right.

He lifts each string one by one,

Admiring the way they move.

He smiled, a sinful smile

As if he was enjoying an inside joke.

Finally, with a swift motion,

He opens the curtains 

Just as the show was about to start.

With a sharp pull,

I feel my limbs start to move involuntarily.

I start dancing,

Bound against my will. 

I stare blankly at my audience,

Disgusted by the applause I hear.

But I can't do anything about it now, 

For now my soul is his.

I am forever his puppet,

And he is my puppeteer.

Reviews

[Firestone Feinberg]

T H I S I S G R E A T ! Brilliant. Skillful. Unique. --david

[Carissa Marie]

Thanks david. :)