Sanity Puppets
With his psyche seriously wounded
Fear of madness emerged
Forcing him to form enigmatic security
Stringing us
Giving life to us
Dreading eternity’s hourglass emptying
He offered us time
As he climbed into bed
And made warm his imaginary string and faceless images real
With halfway from night
Halfway to dawn
Beckoning…
On the streets of darkened pawn shops
Welfare hotels
And for-profit soup lines preparing for sunrise
His mind snapped
We puppets of sanity suddenly needed to help
But found ourselves floating in weightlessness
Pondering when it would be
That puppet master would die
Leaving our destiny but to join him
After all
We were only alive
As comfort for him
And imagination dies with the imaginer
Doesn’t it?
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Martyrdom of the puppet master ensuing from some tragic death, would be far more damaging to the psyche of the country when so many believe that the puppet master can do no wrong.
Ron