The Puppet Master
I am but a marionette
Twirling and twisting
At the end of the puppeteer's strings.
I know not his name.
It does not matter,
For he is every man I have loved and
Every soul I have ever known.
The string is my heart
And I sway to each tug
Of the puppeteer's whims.
For I have no mind of my own.
It has been lost in the subjugating
Rules of society
And burned in the heat
Of my young lover's lust.
My smile has been painted on.
And my heart has shrunk and whithered
As society played its mindless games
And ripped the child
From its mother's tender arms.
And I turn to the opiates
Dredged up by society
To help me forget.
And I cry alone in the coal black night
Until I can cry no more.
And I dance to the tug of the
Marionette's whims.
>>>snip snip snip...snip snip...
my secret scissor stash :)
Vickie
*Charlene* to have written this piece!
Lady Vivian